Now and Then
by njbrennan
Summary: Modern AU: (Some S4 spoilers) A non-linear modern tale about what happens to Edith after she becomes pregnant and her life as a single mother after a certain someone from her past reappears. It will also include flashbacks to canonic plots as seen through a modern lens. All characters belong to Fellowes.
1. The Little One

A/N: So, I'm back! Five finals over two weeks, a Thanksgiving skipped, and more than six weeks of doing absolutely nothing but studying. Safe to say that I am spent (on school-related things), and yet, totally pumped to come back to fanfiction! I was so pleased to see like 20 story updates from all of the wonderful Andith writers…this ship literally cannot be stopped!

(_Minor S4 spoiler ahead!)_ In this story, I plan on tackling what I like to call the "Canon Plus" version of Edith and Anthony's relationship through a modern lens. "Canon Plus" refers to things that have a canon background, but depart at a specific point in the future and become AU from then on. Here, the departure will be when Edith gives birth to her baby. Instead of giving it to some Swiss family, she'll keep it, all in modern times, of course.

Things will be changed to be consistent with modernity, but I plan to keep a very good deal of the canon plotlines in the story. These scenes (modern canon and canon "plot fillers") will form the "then" part of the story and alternate with the "now" parts, which pick up six years after Anthony jilted Edith and four after she and Gregson had an affair.

Even though it's a bit of a departure from my other stories in terms of structure and a bit of an experiment, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Let me know your thoughts if you can spare the time!

P.S. I have not forgotten about _Shipwrecked! _I should have another chapter of that posted by Sunday evening :)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Miss Crawley?" the nurse prompted. Edith's dark eyes darted up, but their gaze remained somewhat blank. "It's time."

There was a finality in the nurse's voice that brought Edith back to the moment. She wiped her sweaty brow and nodded her response. Then, as she wrapped her hands around the base of the thin hospital mattress to brace herself, Edith felt a bony hand graze her forearm and the other rub her back.

Rosamund Painswick caught her niece's gaze, noticing that both of their eyes burned with hot tears that threatened to fall at any second. This was not how either of them envisioned this moment, not in a single way. Regardless, she gave her a watery smile and affectionately tightened her grip on the young woman.

"You heard the nurse, deary," Rosamund told Edith, trying to stay strong for her.

Edith patted her aunt's hand and resumed her focus on the task at hand. It would not be an easy one, she thought to herself, for a multitude of reasons.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Eight months earlier:_

Edith stared at the pregnancy strip, at the glaring purple plus sign that seemed to mock her, and collapsed to the bathroom floor in tears. These were not tears of joy, far from it. They were the tears of a young woman who just realized that her life had become all the more tangled, all the more messy, and all the more desperate.

She lay on the floor for a long time, the cool tiles soothing her burning skin and a hand towel supporting her head. Edith had nearly exhausted herself of tears as she wondered how she could have let something like this happen. She and Michael had been…careful during their romance so that something like this wouldn't happen.

It couldn't, not when he was still married.

She wasn't even sure how much time had elapsed when she stood up and washed the salty tear stains from her face and discarded the pregnancy test and the pharmacy bag it came in.

Shuffling from her bathroom to the living room of her cramped London flat, Edith threw herself on the couch, pulled out her mobile, and dialed Michael's number. Each ring felt like an eternity and Edith realized that she was holding her breath. When she heard Michael's voice answer on the other line, she felt a wave a relief wash over her, followed by a crippling fear.

"Darling, what is it? I can't talk. I'm…at my in-law's flat right not," Michael said in a hushed tone.

"I need to see you. There's something I need to tell you," Edith replied, her voice quivering.

"Can it wait? I think I need to be here for a few more hours."

"Well, it could probably wait. But…I need you now."

"If it can wait, then it must, Edi-"

"I'm pregnant, Michael," Edith blurted out, her nerves getting the best of her. The declaration was met with heavy silence on the other line.

"You're…you're pregnant? How?" he asked accusatorily. "But we took every precaution." It was not the sort of response women want to hear when telling the father of their child news like this.

"I don't know. It just did," Edith told him. "I'm sorry."

Another heavy silence followed as Michael's mind reeled.

"I'll be over after I wrap up here," he finally said. There was no joy in his tone, no excitement, only dread.

Edith bid farewell and closed the phone. Tears threatened again and she gave in without a second thought.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few hours later, Michael came through the door of the flat, using the set of keys Edith had given him months prior. He slid his trench coat off, hung it on the coat rack, and called out, "Edith? Darling, I'm here."

Edith had fallen asleep on her couch, the emotions of the day overwhelming her. Michael approached and sat down beside her. He placed a delicate hand over her shoulder and tried to rouse her from her slumber.

When her eyes flitted open and she saw Michael sitting next to her, Edith lunged to embrace him. The sobbing started once again as she burrowed her face into his sweater. Michael held her tightly and smoothed her hair down, cooing as he did.

"It'll be okay, my darling," he murmured into her ear.

"How? You're married…"

"I know, but-"

"Do you plan on leaving Lizzy?"

Michael pulled away and stared at her for a moment. "You know that I can't."

"Why not? All because of some stupid money?" she accused.

"Edie, darling, you know that her father is a major investor in the_ Sketch_," Michael explained as if he had rehearsed this. "If I divorce his daughter, even when she barely recognizes me, he'll pull all of the money out and the _Sketch_ will go under. Then we'll both lose our jobs and so will hundreds of other employees."

"So you're just going to…to cast me off for the sake of the paper?" Edith shrieked, her sobs becoming all the more violent. She moved away from him on the couch, trying to distance herself with cushions and throw pillows if nothing else.

"I don't plan on casting you off. Nothing has to change between us, Edie."

"Don't you understand? I'm pregnant! Everything will change!"

"It doesn't have to," Michael replied coolly. After a moment, his meaning registered with Edith and she felt the color drain from her face.

Drawing in a shaking breath, Edith told him, "I'm not doing that, if that's what you mean. I love you and I love this baby already because it's a part of you, of both of us. This is definitely not how I pictured starting a family, but I _do_ want a family, Michael. I want it with you."

"But Edie, it won't work. I've already risked enough to be with you. If Lizzy's father finds out about us, he'll pull the money for sure. That's even more likely if I start pushing a pram around with you in the park or start purchasing nappies and formula!"

Edith couldn't believe what she was hearing. Michael Gregson, the man she loved, was practically giving her an ultimatum. "I won't do it, Michael. Can't you find another investor or something? There surely must be some! Then, you could leave your wife without consequence and we could start a happy, little family."

"There aren't any others. Print journalism is already waning and the money just isn't out there, not for magazines like the _Sketch_," he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen, darling, I don't know why you're making this difficult. Just get it taken care of and we can be together like we always have. You're just creating unnecessary drama by even carrying on with this silly notion."

"Silly notion? Michael, this is a child that we've created! I want to keep it and I want us to be a family. Why is that such a 'silly notion?'"

Michael stood up as if to stand his ground. "Because it is!" he shouted. "Because everything will be ruined if I lose that money, Edith. This whole thing is a mistake, an accident, and never should have happened."

Realizing that his words had horrified Edith, he knelt down beside her and grabbed her hands. "Darling, I love you and I love what we have going for us. Everything is perfect the way it is. Please, don't disrupt it."

Edith furrowed her brow and pulled her hands away in disgust. "It has already been disrupted," she said sternly.

Standing up from the couch, Edith walked towards the front door and opened it. "I'd like for you to leave now, Michael."

"Edie," he groaned. "Don't be like this."

"Leave."

Michael knew not to push it. Sulking towards the door, he grabbed his coat from the rack, and paused in the doorway. "Please, Edie…don't do this."

When Edith said nothing and did not meet his gaze, Michael Gregson pressed a parting kiss on her cheek and took his leave.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edith turned in her resignation to the _Sketch _offices the very next day and sent out her résumé to a few other papers that had offered her work in the past. She had some nibbles and some feelers, but nothing solid, not until she received a call from a small, online paper offering her the job of chief columnist. The pay was good, the hours were flexible, and its most attractive characteristic was that Michael Gregson was _not_ its editor-in-chief. She accepted the offer within the hour.

The months turned into trimesters that came and passed in a blur. Edith told no one of her pregnancy until she could not put it off any longer, not when her once flat stomach had begun to swell with her child. She called her parents first and told them the news. Traditionalists to the core, both Robert and Cora Crawley were appalled when they learned that their daughter carried a married man's child. Mary and Violet heard through the Crawley grapevine and were equally shocked. Tom Branson, though sympathetic, was living in Ireland and far too busy raising Sybbie on his own to offer much support other than the occasional encouraging phone call.

The only person to reach out in any tangible way was her aunt Rosamund, who lived near her flat in London. Rosamund helped redecorate Edith's home office into a nursery and showered the young woman with baby essentials, including onesies, toys, and the crib she and her late husband, Marmaduke, had bought when they thought they were expecting.

Rosamund never said a word about the way in which the baby was conceived; she knew that people all make mistakes, herself included in that lot, and that she should never judge, especially when it concerned kin.

Edith, on the other hand, felt numb to everything and was decidedly uninterested in the baby. She felt no maternal attachment to the child, not when it caused her relationship with Michael to fail, and she wondered everyday if she had made the right decision. She didn't care to know the sex, or plan names, and let Rosamund make most of the decisions about clothes and color schemes and the like.

Instead of the glowing mother-to-be, Edith Crawley merely felt like a vessel and nothing more.

That is, until she found herself in the hospital delivery room. Her body was aching and sore beyond belief, covered in sweat and dripping with fear. Labor terrified her, especially after Sybil's death in childbirth. Sybil had so much to live for and even that wasn't enough. What did Edith have to live for anymore? Everything seemed hopeless for her.

Then, after hours of contractions and pushing and heaving, Edith felt a great pressure, followed by a quick release as she delivered her child. The baby's cries filled the room and an innate curiosity sparked within the new mother.

"It's a boy!" the doctor cheered. Moments later, a little, pink baby was placed in her arms, wrapped in a blanket and looking all around himself.

Then, as her son's gaze settled on hers, Edith felt it.

She felt love.

It was instantaneous and powerful, rocking her to her very core. Tears flowed from her eyes unreservedly and she stroked his cheek. "Hello, my little one," she cooed. "I'm your mummy."

Rosamund was beside herself, a joyful mix of laughter and crying. "Edie, he is beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Look at those eyes. Definitely the Crawley eyes, that's for sure."

Edith noticed how blue her son's eyes were, like little sapphires. Most babies were born with blue eyes, but his were exceptional. She hadn't seen eyes that blue for over two years. They reminded her of...no she wouldn't admit it. Not today.

But as she looked at her son, at every dimple and quirk, she noticed just how much he looked like…him.

His blond hair, short and wispy and out of control, was nearly white it was so blond. And those blue eyes…Edith couldn't stop staring at them. It was how she envisioned her child with him would look like, with those precise features about him that she loved so much. But this child wasn't his and that pained her all the more.

A nurse came over with a clipboard and asked the new mother what the child's name would be.

"Oh, um, well I hadn't really thought about it much," Edith admitted. "But now that I've met him, I think…I think he looks like a Rowan."

"And for the middle?" the nurse prompted as she scribbled away.

Edith looked down at the boy, with his blond hair and blue eyes, so like _his_ and she could think of only one name, one person to name him after. At least they would share a middle name, she thought.

"Philip," Edith told the nurse with conviction.

Unaware of the meaning the name had to Edith, Rosamund voiced her approval and hugged her niece tightly. "Well, Rowan Philip Crawley, it's nice to meet you," she said as she looked down on her great-nephew with a smile.

Edith was simultaneously crying and beaming as she placed a kiss on her son's forehead, her little Rowan, and for the first time in her life, she felt joy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: Even though Anthony wasn't in this chapter per se, he still managed to work his influence into it regardless ;) But never fear! We'll see him shortly!

Let me know your thoughts on this if you can :D

Thank you!

NJB


	2. Away and Back Again

A/N: Thank you all so much for the response for the first chapter! I hope that this one doesn't disappoint :)

It's a sad chapter, I'll admit, but these two have _a lot_ of baggage to work through and the walls that each of them have built won't be torn down with ease. But it will not last too long, that I can promise you!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anthony couldn't breathe. The cravat of his morning suit mocked him, suffocated him, and he hastily pulled it away with his good hand as he rushed the road towards Locksley, discarding it on the ground without a care.

He couldn't believe what he had just done. He had left her standing alone at the altar, her eyes red, her cheeks stained with black tears. And for life of him, his heart tried, but struggled to come up with a reason to console his breaking heart.

Despite how his heart felt otherwise, Anthony knew he had let things get too far. There was so much that Edith didn't know, so much he had embarrassingly kept from her for fear of her scorn or disgust. He just couldn't tie someone like her, so youthful and bright, to someone old and dark like himself. It wouldn't be right. And although he loved her so much it made his stomach queasy and his chest ache, Anthony knew he had done the right thing.

But as Locksley appeared in the distance, empty but for the wedding decorations and the luggage in the foyer to take on their honeymoon, Anthony realized the gravity of what he had done. His estate, in his family for centuries, would no longer be filled with the warmth that Edith brought to it, would never be filled happy children running around, playing tag or hide and seek. It would remain empty, filled only with the demons that Anthony brought along.

Throwing his body against the door, Anthony stumbled into the foyer and saw his newly monogrammed leather suitcase next to Edith's. After the reception at Downton, they had planned to retreat to Locksley and spend their first night as husband and wife within its warm, gingerbread walls before honeymooning on a secret trip that the groom had planned. But now, all that was left of their plans, of their lives together as one, was the monogrammed suitcase in the foyer.

Anthony collapsed near it on the hard oak floors. With tears blurring his vision, he ran his good hand over her initials. EJS. He felt the red stitching, his fingers lingering over the "S" that would never be.

This was too much, too much to handle or process. He reached into his left pocket and fumbled around until he found what he sought. Ungracefully, Anthony popped the bottle open, spilling its contents on the floor, and eagerly shoved a pill into his mouth.

The relief was almost instantaneous.

Sinking against a nearby wall, his legs sprawled out away from him and an exhausted expression on his face, Anthony sighed and the tears relented. Looking around himself, he saw his future, one with pills to keep him company instead of his wife, one with emptiness instead of her presence, and one with darkness instead of her light.

He knew he couldn't stay here, not when memories of her filled every corner of Locksley: in the library where they read endlessly, in the kitchen where once, she had begged him to bake cookies with her and he willingly conceded, or in the gardens where he teased and kissed her and she reciprocated eagerly and lovingly.

Anthony knew he had to leave, the sooner the better.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Six Years Later_

As Anthony drove through the Yorkshire roads, he marvelled at how things seemed to stand still, as though life in the country had laid down for six years. Nothing seemed different at all; it was all eerily the same.

It was obligation that had brought him back to his homeland. After his hasty departure from his wedding, Anthony fled, roaming the world like a vagabond. He had had no destination, no itinerary. He only wanted to get as far away from memories of Edith as he could and to save her the pain of seeing him again. His travels took him to Asia and Africa, to America and continental Europe, spending his days reading and sleeping and fending off fantasies about Edith.

But now, six years after that fateful day, Anthony was on his way home. He had received a call from his solicitor informing him that his estate was in severe disrepair. The man he had hired to run it in his absence had apparently taken off with a young Polish woman and left without notice. And since the seat of the Strallan family was under his care, Anthony felt the old pull of obligation bring him back to Yorkshire against his will.

At least Edith wouldn't be there, he reasoned, his only consolation for returning. She was living in London, or so he presumed, and working as a writer at an online magazine headquartered there. He read every article with fervour and printed them off to keep with him, his last connection to her. If he had heard any inkling that she had been in Yorkshire, Anthony never would have returned. It wouldn't be right to embarrass her or dig up old wounds.

And so, that was how Anthony found himself in a supermarket on this afternoon. He had returned to Locksley the day before, only to find his once majestic estate in shambles. It was amazing how quickly things had taken a turn. At any rate, Anthony figured that since he'd be in Yorkshire for as long as it took to renovate Locksley and bring it back up to par, he might as well get some groceries and other essentials to last him.

He wove in and out of the aisles, pushing the cart with his good hand, and grabbing groceries mindlessly. Milk, eggs, cereal, and double chocolate cookies: absolute essentials. Then, as he turned the corner and inspected the deodorants, Anthony heard something whimper by his shins.

Peering down around his shopping cart, Anthony saw tuft of strawberry blond hair belonging to a little boy no more than four years old. He was dressed like a little man, with a button up shirt and sweater with elbow patches not unlike the one Anthony, himself, wore.

He bent down to get closer to eye level with the boy. "Are you all right, little chap?" he asked sweetly.

The boy, looking down at his feet, sniffled and shook his head.

"Are you lost?"

Nodding his head, the boy looked up to Anthony and told him, "I can't find my mummy."

When their eyes met, Anthony heard himself inhale a sharp breath. The boy's eyes, so dark and large, were a shade of brown that Anthony hadn't seen in years. They looked just like…hers.

"Well, that's not good," he replied, somewhat distracted by the boy's eyes. "I'm sure your mummy is worried sick. How about I take you to a manager and they'll help us find your mum? Does that sound like a plan?"

The boy nodded his head once again as the sniffling waned. Then, he reached up and wrapped his little hand around Anthony's little finger, clutching it with all the strength he could muster.

Abandoning his cart, Anthony led the little boy in search of a manager at the front of the store. "What's your name, little chap?" he asked.

"I'm Rowan," he replied.

"It's nice to meet you Rowan. I'm Anthony."

The boy smiled, as did Anthony. It didn't take long to find a manager, who followed standard protocol.

"I found this little boy over by the deodorant section. He seems to have been separated from his mum," Anthony explained.

The manager, an old, kindly man, bent down and asked Rowan, who was still holding onto Anthony's finger, what his name was.

"Rowan."

"And your last name, Rowan?" the manager inquired.

"Crawley," he told the man. Anthony nearly did a double take; it was the first time in a long while that he had heard that name spoken aloud. In an instant, his pulse quickened and he began looking around nervously for a glimpse of her.

"And what's your mummy's name, Rowan?" the manager pressed kindly.

The boy looked confused by such a question. "Her name is 'mummy,'" Rowan explained to this silly adult.

Chuckling softly, the manager stood up and walked over to the intercom. "Attention ladies and gentlemen, but we have a lost child up at the front named Rowan Crawley. If he is your son, please collect him by the customer service desk. Thank you and enjoy your shopping experience today."

As the reality of the situation hit him, Anthony tried to back away, to pull his finger from the boy's grip, anything to get away from the possibility of seeing Edith again. But Rowan tightened his hold on his finger and the manager, noticing Anthony's attempted exit, told him that they prefer the person who found the child to explain it to the parents. Apparently, it helps to comfort them to know what happened.

Anthony was certain that his presence would not comfort anyone in the slightest, but with one glance at the watery brown eyes of the little boy, something persuaded him to stay.

Moments later, Anthony heard it. He heard a voice he hadn't heard in six years.

"Rowan?" Edith called out hysterically. "Rowan!"

At the sound of his mother's voice, Rowan released Anthony's finger and sprinted towards her open arms. Mother and son collided together in a swirl of a hug, and Edith petted his head, comforting and cooing him.

"Pickle, wherever did you go? I have been worried sick!" Edith said, fighting back tears of relief.

"I got lost, mummy. I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad you're back, safe and sound, Rowan."

The manager cut in, glad to see another successful reunion. "This kind gentleman was the one who found your son, ma'am," he explained, gesturing towards a nervous, shy Anthony Strallan.

Trying to find something to fiddle with to distract himself, Anthony sheepishly offered a small smile. "Hi, Edith," he greeted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Edith's jaw dropped as she stared at her former fiancé. A thousand questions popped into her mind at once, but only one made its way out of her mouth. "What are you doing here, Anthony?"

"I-I've just moved back. My estate needs some repairs and maintenance," he told her. Then, not knowing what else to say, he fell back on his gentlemanly upbringing and said, "You look well."

Though she was a few years older, she was still the same stunning Edith he had always remembered, with her reddish blonde hair, dark eyes, and fair skin. She wore a thin, purple sweater that wrapped around her waist, obviously not altered by motherhood in the least.

"Thank you," Edith replied blankly. Giving the man a once-over, Edith noticed that he looked healthier than when she had last seen him. His blond hair was fuller, but still turning white at the temples, and he had put on some weight, some healthy pounds. But his once clean appearance had changed: he had a rough beard, blond peppered with strands of white whiskers, and he outfit was about as casual as she had ever seen, just jeans and a navy sweater. Certainly not the crisp appearance he had donned all those years ago.

"As do you," she replied. The manager, feeling the palpable tension between these two, slowly retreated and busied himself with other tasks. "So, you found Rowan?"

He nodded. "I did. By the deodorant section."

"I appreciate it," Edith admitted flatly. "Rowan, tell Anthony that you appreciate his kindness."

Edith gave her son a little nudge in the back and Rowan sweetly said, "Thank you, An-tee!"

Flashing a small, lopsided grin at the boy's sincerity, Anthony responded, "It was my pleasure, Rowan."

A few painful seconds passed and neither knew what to say to the other. It had been six years since they last spoke, since Anthony made the decision to end their wedding by walking away. There was pain between them and it was undeniable.

Anthony opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Edith cut him off. "I can't do this," she blurted out.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"I can't pretend like everything is all right between us. Anthony, I haven't seen you in six years and suddenly, you're back here telling me that I'm well and acting like nothing ever happened. But something did happen, something _you _did, something unforgivable."

Anthony dropped his gaze, as ashamed as he was on that day when she begged him to stay at the altar.

"I would appreciate it if you could leave Rowan and I alone, which, judging by the size of Ripon, might be difficult, but I'd appreciate if I didn't have to relive that day every time I see you."

"O-of course," he muttered.

"Come on, Rowan, let's go home," Edith told her son.

"Bye, An-tee!" he called out as Edith led him out of the store by his hand, completely oblivious to the pain in his mother's heart or in the man who found him,

Anthony clenched his jaw, trying to stop his lower lip from quivering, and waved his good hand at the little boy.

Perhaps moving back to Yorkshire wasn't the best idea, Anthony thought to himself bitterly as he turned around to find his abandoned shopping cart.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: Agh, don't hate me for the bitter ending! These two have so much to work through and well, Rome wasn't built in a day ;)

As for some other things in the story: I heard some people mention that it could be possible that Anthony suffered from an addiction to morphine after the war and _that_ contributed to his jilting. I think that idea is brilliant (props to the person who came up with it!) and I'd like to explore it here. Also, certain facts about their history (especially their second relationship before the jilting and Anthony's injury) will be exposed in parts, like a veil slowly being lifted from them. All in due course!

Also, I wanted both Edith and Anthony to see the other's eyes when they meet Rowan individually. Children with brown eyes are often born with blue eyes (myself included!) and I thought it would be interesting if the boy introduced himself to these two with the eyes of the other. However, I imagine Edith's son to be a miniature, boy-version of her, in physical features as well as personality.

I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am as I write it! Drop me a line if you'd like :) Thanks again for reading!

NJB


	3. Memories Rush In

A/N: Thank you all so much for the comments for the last chapter! There's been a really nice response to this so far and I am very grateful :)

This chapter will have flashbacks for both Edith and Anthony (those will be in italics). I hope you all like it!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mummy, why are you so sad?" Rowan asked as his mother rushed the two of them out of the grocery store without even buying anything. His little legs struggled to keep up and Edith stopped to pick him up and finish the last few strides to her car.

Buckling Rowan into his car seat, Edith mumbled, "I'm fine, pickle. I'm just…a little tired." After he was secure in his seat, she ran around the car and nearly jumped into her own. In a flash, they were on the long curvy road to their cottage outside of Ripon. The lush, green hills of Yorkshire whizzed past them and Edith felt her chest constrict.

She had been living near Ripon with her son for well over two years now, all thankfully without even a glimpse of Anthony. They had spent the first two years of his life at her little flat in London, but as Rowan grew and needed space to run about, Edith decided that perhaps a country lifestyle might be better for both of them. And despite her promise never to return to her hometown, Edith eventually decided on Ripon to be closer to her family, as surprising as that was.

Months after Rowan's birth, her parents reached out to her, curious and eager to meet their youngest grandchild. Mary and Violet followed soon after and as Rowan and little George grew, the two hit it off like wildfire. The boys, whenever they were together, were inseparable and always giggling and squealing. It was the sort of relationship that Edith had always wanted with Mary, so it was especially ironic that their sons had what their mothers never could.

So, with the thought of family lending a hand when she needed it and the option to work from home at the online paper, Edith decided that perhaps Ripon might be the best place for her little family to call home. Even better still, she had heard that Anthony had fled the country after their wedding that wasn't, and she felt equal parts consoled that she wouldn't have to run into him in Ripon and crestfallen that Yorkshire wouldn't be as sweet without him near.

Tears welled up in her eyes and Edith sniffled and squinted, trying to fend them off.

"Mummy, are you crying?" Rowan asked from the backseat. "Are you sad?"

"Yes, Rowan, I'm a little sad," she admitted. "But I'll be all right."

"Why are you sad?"

Edith looked at him in the rear view mirror at his dark, inquisitive eyes so like her own, and flashed him a sad smile. "I'm sad because I saw someone from my past today, Ro, someone I loved once, someone who hurt me a long time ago."

"And you're still sad, mummy?"

"I think so," Edith replied. Then, growing too upset talking about this, even with her four-year-old, she skilfully changed the subject. "Do you know how to make me feel better?"

Rowan's face lit up and a smile stretched across his face. "Pickle tickles!" he cheered. Edith had been calling him "Pickle" since he was born, and as tickle fights were a favorite in the Crawley household, their little game was so dubbed "pickle tickles."

"I think that would cheer me up immensely, Rowan," Edith told him with motherly affection.

As the car plugged along, Rowan was lulled to sleep by its gentle rocking and Edith was left alone with her thoughts for a while.

Naturally, her thoughts drifted to Anthony, as they did from time to time.

Once in a while, she'd see something that reminded her of him, be it an open top Rolls or a favorite novel of his in a bookstore. Even more prominent were these thoughts when she called out Rowan's full name, often when he was being a little too mischievous for her liking and she needed to show that she meant business. In those moments, Edith would think about where Anthony was and what he was doing, if he was taking good care of himself or if he had moved on. She tried not to think about their past; it was far too painful to relive.

But today, all Edith could seem to think about were those moments she shared with Anthony all those years ago, as if seeing him flooded her mind with memories of him, of the two them together.

"_I have to ask, if you don't mind me being too forward, but what's a bright, young thing like you wanting to have anything to do with an old codger?" Anthony asked as the wind blew through his blond hair and the countryside leisurely moved around his Rolls._

"_Well, believe it or not, I happen to enjoy your company," Edith admitted, leaning her head back against the headrest and letting the spring sun warm her up. "You're one my father's oldest friends, but that doesn't preclude you from being my friend, as well. And I do hope we can be friends, Anthony, really. I enjoyed our talk at dinner last week at dinner and you seem very kind and interesting and witty, which is a far cry from a lot of Papa's friends."_

_He chuckled. "You enjoyed our talk? Even about agriculture?" he questioned, his eyebrows inquisitively raised._

"_I did, honestly. And your taste in books is very refined…always a bonus."_

"_Yes, your father did mention your love of books," Anthony explained. "You're reading English literature, aren't you?"_

_Edith nodded her head. "At Oxford. I start my final term there in a few weeks."_

"_Are you excited?"_

"_I thought I would be, but now, I think I'm going to miss Yorkshire for some reason," Edith hinted._

"_Whatever could that be?" Anthony asked, playing along._

"_Fine conversations with a new friend, obviously," she quipped._

"_Well, Edith, there is this fascinating new invention called 'email' that's all the rage-"_

_She cut him off with a nudge in his side, causing them both to erupt in laughter. _

…

_They were standing in a corner of Downton's drawing room away from the other partygoers, secluded just as they both preferred. _

_Anthony looked very dashing in his well-cut black suit and gingham tie, standard party attire. Edith, at her mother's insistence, was in a coral dress, tight around her waist with lots of sequins and jewels beneath her delicious collarbone. She noticed that it was all Anthony could stare at and silently thanked her mother for making her wear it. _

"_You look very lovely tonight, Edie," he mumbled, his voice a little strained from the many champagne glasses he had consumed that evening. Alcohol was never in short supply at Crawley parties._

_Edith blushed and felt her skin burn. "You're very flattering," she replied. Being near him once again seemed different than it was before, before his injury. It had been many years since she had seen him, but within an hour of seeing him a few months ago at her grandmother's home, they quickly reverted back to their usual selves, all nervous giggles and glances._

"_I have something I'd like to ask you," he whispered into her ear. "Would you mind if I stole you away from the party for a moment?"_

_Edith knew precisely what he planned to ask her and her heart soared as she took his good arm and he led them into the empty library…_

"Mummy?" Rowan asked sleepily. "Are we home yet?"

Edith was swiftly brought back to reality. "Almost there, darling. I took the long way home, but we should be there soon."

"I still want Pickle Tickles when we get home!"

"And I look forward to it!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anthony wandered back to the deodorant section and found his cart left untouched. Pushing it with his good hand, he continued on with his grocery shopping, albeit in a much more despondent way than before.

He was almost shell-shocked and could barely believe that that had just happened. Edith had a son, a son who was like a male clone of her, and likely had a doting husband waiting for them at home. But then again, this was precisely what he set her free to do: to move on and really live her life.

But if it had been the right thing to do, why did it hurt so much?

Anthony pushed his cart in and out of the aisles, grabbing groceries without really looking at them, before finding himself in front of a shelf of wine bottles. He lingered there for a few moments, staring at each label intently, and suddenly chastised himself for the thought.

It had been five years and he wasn't about to break his streak today.

"_Tell me, why are you here today, Anthony?" the therapist asked. Dr. Everett was a kind, elderly woman with dark hair and glasses who spoke to her patients with the tenderness of a grandmother. _

"_I-I'm not really sure," Anthony mumbled as he picked some imaginary lint off of his sling. Despite the warm bricks and massive, bright windows, Anthony felt incredibly uncomfortable in her office and questioned why he was here at all._

"_Surely, there must be a reason or you wouldn't be wasting your time here."_

"_I suppose that things have gotten a little…out of hand lately."_

"_In what way?" she asked as she scribbled something down in her notes._

"_Well, in all honesty, I have made a mess out of my life and I have…used things as a crutch to get me through it."_

"_What sorts of things?"_

"_Um…well," he began timidly. He had never spoken this aloud to anyone and it shamed him to admit it. "I think I might have a problem with painkillers."_

_Scribbling. "And when did this begin?" _

"_About three years ago, when I was injured," Anthony said bitterly as he gestured at the lifeless arm in his sling._

"_How were you injured?"_

"_I took a bullet in the wrong place while I was in Iraq. When I was younger, I served in the military, did my duty, but got out to manage the family business. But when we got involved in the Middle East, I was asked to return, not active duty per se, but for diplomatic purposes. I'm fluent in many languages, you see, Arabic among them, and the military wanted to use me for some diplomatic talks. While we were en route to a talk with some foreign leaders, insurgents ambushed our vehicles and the rest was history. I was shot and lost all function in my arm. But I was lucky; many good men in my convoy were killed or injured far worse than I was."_

"_I'm very sorry for your losses, Anthony. It must have been very difficult to deal with."_

"_It was. But the pain that followed as the nerve died was almost worse; it was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The only things that got me through the day were the painkillers. And at night, when the…nightmares set in, the pills and alcohol were there to soothe me and after a time, I realized that I didn't really need them for physical pain any longer, but I depended on them for everything. I turned to them to face pretty much any emotion, but especially the darker ones."_

"_Was there anyone for you after your injury? I'm sure adjusting to life without the use of an arm must have been hard on you."_

"_It _was_ hard and initially, there was no one. My sister lives in the U.S., my parents are gone, as is my late wife. About six months after I returned, however, an old family friend kept inviting me to go hunting with him, but I refused every invitation. Eventually, I settled on tea with his mother and while I was there, I was reacquainted with my friend's daughter, a friend of mine actually before I went to Iraq. She was…divine, just as I remembered, and I fell in love with her all over again." A sad smile lingered on his face as he reminisced._

"_And did this woman help you at all?" the therapist probed._

"_In a way. Edith gave me something to live for, brought light back into my life, and she was the first person to look past my arm. But…" Anthony hesitated._

"_Go on, it's all right."_

"_I kept the darkness from her. I didn't tell her about the nightmares or the painkillers or how they both haunted me so very much. We became engaged not long after reconnecting, but I…I left her at the altar at our wedding. I tried to quit the pills cold turkey a few days before our wedding, but I relapsed harder than I ever had the night before the big day. I knew as I stood at that altar that I could not do that to her. She shouldn't have to be married to…to an addict."_

"_I'm sorry to hear that. So is that why you're here now? To move past this and become sober?"_

"_It is. I want to be free of these pills for good. I owe it to Edith and I owe it to myself…"_

"_I'm sure that this Edith would be glad that you're getting help…"_

"_I doubt it, but hope springs eternal, doesn't it?"_

Moving as quickly as he could from the liquor section, Anthony made his way towards the cash register. He emptied his random assortment of groceries onto the conveyer belt and noticed that his cashier was the old manager who had assisted when he found Edith's son.

Swiping a carton of eggs over the scanner, followed by a rather large box of cookies, the manager said, "I wanted to thank you for helping that little boy today, sir. You had quite a way with him; you really kept him calm. The little ones are often so frightened when they get separated from their mums."

"Hmm? Oh, thank you," Anthony mumbled distractedly. He really didn't want to rehash the details of that moment.

"And if I recall, you seemed to be acquainted with his mother?"

"Yes, we…we are familiar. But it's been a long time since we've seen each other."

"Small world, isn't it? Funny how the world has a way of dropping people in your life when you least expect it, eh?"

Anthony eyed the man curiously. "Yes, I suppose it is," he replied as he paid the man and left the store pondering the manager's words.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and that the formatting wasn't too confusing. I'm experimenting here so if there are any suggestions (or any other comments) that you have, I'd love to hear them!

Thanks again for reading :)

NJB


	4. Red Go-Cart Woes

A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback for the last chapter! I hope you had a lovely and merry Christmas. This one won't include any flashbacks, but it will have some canon dialogue. I hope you enjoy it :D

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The late summer days bled into autumn months that slowly chilled into a very snowy winter. Edith was surprised, relieved, and yet, disappointed that she had only seen a few glimpses of Anthony since their chance encounter at the grocery store all those months ago. She had seen him here and there, running errands or driving around in his old, but no less well maintained, Rolls Royce, but he never seemed to see her.

Her thoughts drifted to him more often these days, likely prompted by the knowledge of his proximity to her home, and she found that she didn't always push them immediately from her mind. Still, things were busy enough in the Crawley Cottage, what with Christmas, New Year's, and Rowan's birthday looming nearby, and Edith had many, many things to occupy her time besides thoughts of Anthony Strallan.

Today, Edith and Rowan found themselves in the neighboring village of Thirsk. Edith was looking for a very special gift for her son's fifth birthday, nestled between Christmas and New Year's, and couldn't seem to find it in Ripon. He had been begging her for a bright red go-cart, complete with little pedals and racing stripes down the side, ever since George had received one for his sixth birthday a few months prior. It was all Rowan could seem to talk about and Edith thought his fervor on the subject to be rather endearing.

After stopping at every toy store in Ripon with no luck, the Crawleys were on their third store in Thirsk with a similar lack of success. Edith was almost tempted to call Mary up and ask her, but even though their sons were as thick as thieves, the two sisters' relationship was still rather strained. After weaving in and out of the aisles of this latest toy store to no avail, Edith called her son over to bundle him up yet again to brave the icy Yorkshire day.

"Mummy, why are we going to all these stores?" Rowan asked as Edith slipped his mittens over his little hands and buttoned his navy peacoat.

"Because I'm looking for present ideas for your birthday and I also need a good list to give to Father Christmas."

"But the toys are the same at all of the stores!" he complained. While Edith had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at his astuteness, she knew that she'd have to get some lunch in him sooner rather than later, or Rowan would get grumpy as he usually did when he was hungry.

"Well, pickle, if you must know, I'm looking for something very special and I haven't been able to find it yet," Edith explained, avoiding his gaze as she tied his woolly reindeer scarf.

A mischievous grin grew across the little boy's face. "It's my go-cart, isn't it?" he cried out excitedly, jumping up slightly at the thought.

Edith feigned a scoff and rolled her eyes for effect. "Whatever gave you that idea?" she teased. Standing up and offering her hand, she added, "Now, how about we get some lunch and then try another store? What are you in the mood for, Ro?"

Rowan scrunched his brow and thought deeply about this question, as if it was a very important life decision. "Hmm, can we get a sammich?" he asked brightly.

Giggling at his mispronunciation, still commonplace in her almost-five-year-old, Edith nodded her head in agreement. "Then 'sammiches' we shall have."

Mother and son found a quaint café a few streets away and dined there. They giggled and teased each other over their ham sandwiches and after they had eaten their fill, they set out for the last toy store in Thirsk.

Moments after walking in, Edith saw the ever elusive red go-cart on display at the back of the shop. She deftly grabbed Rowan by the shoulders and directed him to the opposite corner of the store to distract him with a train set.

"Will you stay here for a moment while I look around?"

No answer was needed; Rowan was highly enthralled with the train, connecting car after car onto the steam engine and pulling them along the tracks. Spotting her chance, Edith darted over to the sales counter and pointed the go-cart out to the clerk.

"I want my son to be surprised on Christmas morning. Could you ship it to my home address?"

"Of course, miss. The little ones sure love that go-cart. It's a very popular item," the clerk replied kindly. Edith gave her all the necessary information and paid for it before calling Rowan over to head out once again.

"Ready to go, pickle?" Edith asked as Rowan trotted over.

"Mmhmm," he nodded dramatically as he thumped his head against Edith's leg and she smoothed his strawberry hair down affectionately.

Once they were outside, Edith reached for Rowan's gloved hand, but looking up to her with a sneaky grin, he darted in front of her and cheerfully asked, "Mummy, can we race?"

Looking around at the snow-covered sidewalk, Edith's stomach dropped. Her son was sometimes too mischievous for her liking and he always seemed to pick the most inopportune times to display that characteristic. "Not this time, Rowan. It's _very_ slippery out and I don't want you to get hurt."

But Rowan was too excited to care about slipping. He took off like a flash, dodging villagers and giggling up a storm. But as he turned around to catch a glimpse of his frantic mother, Rowan did not see the tall gentleman coming out of a bookshop. The two collided with each other, causing the smaller and younger of the two to fall to the ground rather hard.

Edith wasn't able to see what had happened, due to the flurry of passersby on the sidewalk, but when she heard Rowan's cries, her blood curdled and she felt instinct take over. She shoved through the crowd, pushing and elbowing her way until she reached her son.

Rowan was sitting on the ground, his hand clutching the back of his head, and tears streaming down his face. There was blood on his mittens from what Edith could tell through her own blurry vision and a tall man crouching next to him, trying his best to soothe the crying boy. "Rowan!" she shrieked.

"Edith!" she heard a familiar voice call out. "Edith, I'm-"

But Edith could focus only on her son. She scooped him up into her arms and inspected his wound, touching it delicately, panicking at the sight of his strawberry blond hair wet with blood. "We have to get you to a hospital, Rowan. Do you think you can grab on to my neck?"

The boy's cries were too strong for Edith's request to penetrate and he wailed on.

"Oh, baby, we have to get to my car," she explained in vain. Then, more to herself, she hysterically muttered, "I don't even know where the hospital is in this bloody town!"

"Edith," came the voice again. When Edith said nothing, but only reached into her purse for a tissue to press against Rowan's wound, the man grabbed her shoulder and shook it firmly.

As if a spell had been broken, Edith's dark eyes snapped up towards the man and widened. "Anthony? What on earth are you doing here?"

"I'll explain later, but your son ran into me and hit his head on that crate over there. I know the way to the hospital from here and my Land Rover is just a few feet away," Anthony told her with a steady tone. "Please, let me take the two of you there."

Numbly, Edith nodded and hoisted Rowan into her arms. Then, she quickly followed Anthony through the crowd that had thickened at the scene towards his car, all while rubbing Rowan's back and attempting to calm him down a bit.

Once they were all buckled up, and after Anthony had fished out his spare handkerchief from the glove box to stop the bleeding, they were off to the local hospital. Within moments of arriving, the nursing staff had whisked a sobbing Rowan away to the emergency room for evaluation and treatment, leaving Edith and Anthony alone in the waiting room.

With her fingers trembling and her nerves rattled like they never had been before, Edith slowly sank into a chair and after drawing a shaky breath, she let the sobs flow. "My baby," she murmured over and over to herself. "How could I let this happen?"

Anthony felt his heart sink. He took the seat next to Edith and, with mounting trepidation mixed with the desire to comfort her, he placed an unsure hand on her back. "Edith, it wasn't your fault. It was mine."

The sniffling waned slightly. "What? How?"

"I was coming out of the bookstore and he ran into my legs. If I had paid better attention to my surroundings instead of reading the back of the book I had just purchased, I might have been able to prevent this terrible accident."

"It's not your fault, don't be silly. What were you doing in Thirsk anyway? It's so out of the way from Locksley."

"I…I didn't want to bother you with more episodes like the one in the grocery store a few months ago, so I decided to run all my errands here. I figured you wouldn't venture all the way here when everything was closer in Ripon," he explained as Edith wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"Oh," was all she could manage. "Well, thank you for bringing us here nonetheless."

Anthony had so much to say to her, so much left unsaid after their wedding and that day at the grocery store, and every other time he had seen her from a distance in the past few months, but he knew it was neither the time nor the place for such confessions. Edith was terrified, as all mothers in this situation would rightly be, and he owed it to her to offer any assistance that he could.

"It was no bother at all, Edie," he opted to say instead. "I only wish that it hadn't-"

But a doctor in scrubs and a surgical cap cut Anthony off. "Are you Rowan Crawley's parents?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm his mother," Edith responded as she jumped up. "How is he, doctor? Please tell me that my baby will be all right."

"Your son will be just fine, ma'am," the doctor explained. "We had to put in about twelve stitches to the back of his skull and although he doesn't show any signs of a concussion, he's been sent down to radiology for a precautionary x-ray as we speak. But I'm confident that he'll make a full recovery."

Edith exhaled an audible sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God," she mumbled as her lips quivered and a shaky hand came up to cover them. "When can I see him?"

"He should be done with the x-rays in about twenty minutes or so. We'll come get you when he's ready."

"Thank you, doctor," Edith said before the doctor departed.

Anthony stood up and said, "That's great news! I'm so glad it wasn't something more serious."

Then, unexpectedly, Edith hurled herself against Anthony's chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, and burrowed her sobs into his wool coat. Somewhat shocked at the closeness between them, closer than they had been in six years, Anthony slowly wrapped his good arm around her and simply held her.

"Let it out, Edie. Let it out…"

Through her tears and sniffles, Edith whispered, "I feel like such a rotten mother. I should've grabbed his hand or chased after him more quickly. He was just so excited about the red go-cart…"

Anthony wasn't sure if she were explaining things to him or thinking aloud, but he responded anyway. "You're not a rotten mother, Edith. Boys can get a little rascally from time to time; these things are not out of the ordinary. When I was a boy, it seemed like every other month I broke some bone or another, which I'm sure is the reason my mother's hair went white so soon."

Edith chuckled through her tears and then, in a moment of lucidity, she realized where she was: in the arms of the man who had hurt her so severely once. Quickly, she pulled away and cleared her throat in an effort to compose herself.

Awkwardly, they both sat down again, although this time, across from one another. The minutes that passed were done so in silence, dark eyes stealing glances at blue ones and blue eyes reciprocating. Finally, sweet relief from the tension came in the form of a nurse who asked Edith to follow her.

"I'll be right here," Anthony assured her as Edith left to be reunited with her son.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Half an hour or so later, Edith reappeared in the waiting room with her son asleep on her shoulder. He had a large gauzy patch on the back of his head, but otherwise, one would never know that Rowan was injured, for he had the most serene look on his face.

"They gave him some strong medication for the pain, apparently," Edith whispered. "But the doctor reiterated that he should be fine in a day or so, even more so after he gets the stitches out in a week."

Anthony grinned crookedly. "I'm glad to hear that he'll be all right. I feel responsible for it all…"

"Please don't," she replied in a hushed tone. "As you said, boys are sort of rowdy. Apparently, _my_ boy is especially so."

"Can I offer you a ride to your car or back to Ripon?"

"To my car would be nice. Rowan's stuffed moose, Finn, is in the car and I know he'll want it when he wakes up."

Not long after departing, they arrived at Edith's car. Skilfully, she maneuvered Rowan into his car seat, angling his head so as not to aggravate the stitches, and quietly closed the door.

"That was really marvelous of you. You saved the day."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'm just glad I could feel useful for a change," he sheepishly told her.

"Perhaps we can learn to live a little more peacefully together in Ripon so you don't have to come all the way to Thirsk to run errands. Wouldn't you like that?"

"Oh, I should like that very much. Much more than I probably ought to, all things considered."

"Well, anyway, thank you," Edith said with a faint smile on her face before going around to the driver's side of the car. Edith and Anthony shyly waved goodbye to each other and Edith pulled away down the snow-packed road.

A few minutes outside of Thirsk, Edith looked back at her sleeping, wounded boy and felt so grateful that nothing worse had happened to him. Still, she felt her eyes sting anyway as she thought about what Rowan had undergone during what should have been a fun excursion for Christmas presents.

Edith wiped her eyes with her sleeve and as it lingered near her face, a sweet aroma greeted her nose, one she hadn't smelled in many years. She realized that Anthony's cologne must have rubbed off on her when they hugged in the hospital earlier, when she had been too plugged up to detect it. Although she never knew what brand it was, or even its component parts, it was a scent her mind indentified solely with him.

Then, before she knew what she was doing, Edith closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply, trying to soak up as much of his cologne as she could. It was like being in a dream, one she had blissfully lived in six years prior. But as Rowan began to stir in his car seat, the reverie abruptly ended.

You will _not_ entertain those thoughts again, Edith thought to herself. You will _not _fall back in love with him!

As if the mind can tell the heart what to do…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: I hope I haven't put these characters (especially Rowan in this chapter) through the ringer too much! Drama is forecasted, but unlike Fellowes, I promise that clear skies will eventually come around. More back-story will be revealed in the next story, as will some interesting developments between our lovely couple, now that they're on friendlier speaking terms now.

Thank you so much for reading :)

NJB


	5. A Tale of Two Men

A/N: This chapter will split in two, a dichotomy or juxtaposition, if you will. I want to show how different the two men in Edith's life are, especially in relation to her son.

I hope you enjoy it and as always, I'd love to hear from you about it :)

Thank you for reading!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"He's my son, too, Edith. I'll have you remember that," Michael argued sternly on the other line.

Edith rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Rowan is six months old and you have yet to meet him. Where were you when I was pregnant or when he was born? You've missed so many milestones already without so much as a word, Michael, so I'm not really sure where your sudden interest in paternity has come from."

"I've made mistakes, ones I'm not proud of, Edie. But I want to meet my son," he told her with fabricated sorrow. "You at least owe me that."

That struck a nerve. "I owe you nothing, Michael!" she bellowed.

"Well, what am I supposed to do? You've refused to accept financial support, or assistance from me or anyone else for that matter. He's half of me, Edie, and I won't let you forget that."

"Believe me, I never do," Edith muttered with bitterness.

"Then will you let me see him? Can I stop by your flat in a bit?" he pleaded.

Edith had serious reservations about Michael coming back into her life. After Rowan was born, it was so easy to forget about Michael Gregson, to live in a secluded spot of London with her baby without being pestered by anyone. But, she wasn't sure how she felt about denying her son the opportunity to know his father.

"Fine," she acquiesced reluctantly. "But you'll only stay for an hour and not a minute longer. We're having Aunt Rosamund over tonight and I'll need to prepare for dinner."

"Thank you, Edith!" the editor exclaimed. "You won't regret this."

Edith was certain that she would.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sitting on the floor and shaking a rattle at her son, Edith couldn't help but relish these final minutes of uninterrupted bliss with Rowan. He was on all fours on a blanket that Rosamund had given him, gently rocking back and forth, as if steeling himself to crawl. He hadn't accomplished this just yet, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"I'm sorry for the mess I've made with your daddy, pickle," Edith whispered to her son. "You deserve a happy family, but instead, you've been dragged into this mess that I've made."

There was a knock at the door and as Edith picked Rowan up, she kissed his chubby little cheek and continued, "But you will always be mummy's favorite little boy. I wouldn't trade you for all the stars in the sky or all the fish in the sea."

It was almost as if Rowan understood his mother's sweet-nothings, for as soon as she spoke, the little boy giggled and began babbling his response.

A large grin appeared on her face and didn't disappear until Edith opened the door of her flat for Michael. It fell at the sight of him, dressed in his usual three-piece black suit, his hair slicked back, and a smug look on his face.

"Well, who have we here?" he asked as his eyes met his son's for the first time. Michael reached out and tickled the boy's stomach, an act that Rowan did not like receiving from strangers. The baby boy erupted in tears and Edith tried her best to soothe him, rocking from side to side, and patting his back.

"Sorry about this," Edith told Michael as she continued her attempt to calm her boy. "He usually isn't so fussy."

After some tears were shed and stuffed moose was placed in front of him, Rowan calmed down and reconvened the babbling and giggling that had preceded his introduction to his father.

"I thought you said he had blond hair and blue eyes," Michael observed after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"He did when he was born, but a few months back, I noticed little golden specks in his eyes and they've darkened each day. Now they're as dark as mine. Same thing with his hair: it was like someone dripped strawberry juice over his head or something."

"Well, he's the spitting image of you," he added. "You wouldn't know that I had any involvement in his creation."

Edith only nodded her head absentmindedly, not really listening to the man she once loved. It was amazing how she had cared for him once, had been willing to give everything to him, and now, his mere presence in her flat made her somewhat uneasy.

"I never asked, but what's his full name? Did you give him my last name?"

"Why would I? You wanted me to, how did you put it, 'take care of things.' Besides, _I've_ been the one to take care of him from the moment he was conceived until now, with no help from you whatsoever. He is _my_ son. And to satisfy your curiosity, his full name is Rowan Philip."

"Philip, hmm? Not really my style, but I suppose it's all right, though a little dated. Did it just tickle your fancy or something like that?"

Edith felt her skin grow hot at the mention of the name. "Something like that," she mumbled as she got up to fetch a bottle. "Do you want to feed him?"

"Why? I mean, sure, if you want me to."

Edith returned from the kitchen with a warm bottle and handed it to Michael. Then, after some juggling, she managed to nestle Rowan into his father's arms for the first time.

Perhaps Rowan sensed the indifference that is father had for himself and his mother, or perhaps he was just fussy, but the moment that the boy made contact with Michael's embrace, he couldn't stop crying. Michael, unused to being around children, was at a loss about what to do. Uneasily, he shushed his son as he tried to put the bottle in his mouth, but nothing seemed to work. Rowan wailed on.

Having just about enough of this, Michael stood up and quickly thrust Rowan into Edith's arms. "Here!" he grumbled. "I can't do this!"

"Mic-"

"I'm sorry, Edie, but I'm just not ready for a life like this. I can't be a father! This has all happened too quickly!" he shouted, causing Rowan to cry even harder.

"Oh, like it wasn't sprung on me?" Edith countered icily. She was growing more furious by the moment. It was Michael's idea to stop by with little warning and disrupt her pleasant afternoon with her son. On top of everything, he was upsetting Rowan, who was usually a very cheerful baby.

"Edie, that's not what I meant, but you know, women are bett-"

"Don't start _that_ with me, Michael! You're just as responsible for this baby as I am."

Michael paused for a long moment, thinking of his next move. Everything seemed to quiet and calm in the time that passed, and even Rowan nestled into his mother's chest and closed his dark, brown eyes.

"You know it isn't that easy, Edith," Michael finally said. "I am still married, the _Sketch _is still tied up with Lizzie's father's money, and I'm still not able to do this."

Edith crossed the room in a huff and laid Rowan down in the Moses basket by the sofa. "You don't think I know all of those things? That I'm not aware of the real reason that Rowan doesn't have the family he deserves?"

"I didn't mean it like that," he whispered as he stepped closer to Edith. In an effort to bring her back to his side, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, nuzzling her neck. She hesitated at first, but it had been a very, very long time since Edith had had any sort of physical affection from a man and the sudden attention distracted her from her frustration with Michael.

She murmured oohs and aahs as his tongue grazed her neck.

"I love you so much, Edie," Michael told her seductively.

Edith was just about to give in, to succumb to the spell he had over her, when she asked, "If you weren't married, would you still want a family?"

With blood leaving his brain for other parts of his body, Michael chuckled, "Heavens, no!" As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized precisely what he had just said.

Edith stiffened and pushed him away. "I'm such a fool!" she admonished herself. "Here, I thought that if we could just find a way, if you just wanted it enough, that you, Rowan, and I could be a family. But you don't want that, not at all."

Michael stretched his hand out as if to object, but Edith cut him off. "No. I want you out, Michael, and please, for Rowan's sake, do not return."

"Edie-"

"Don't even," she seethed, causing Michael to leave the flat with his tail between his legs.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anthony wasn't sure what he was doing. His car was parked not far from Edith's cottage, covered in snow and surrounded by a white picket fence. The day after his encounter with Edith and Rowan in Thirsk, Anthony had looked up her address in the Ripon phonebook and thought he'd stop by and see how her little boy was doing after his accident.

With his good hand clenching the steering wheel, Anthony debated with himself internally. He wasn't sure how long he had been parked there. Twenty minutes, an hour, two, he didn't know. All he could think about was whether he should be doing this at all.

On the one hand, it would be courteous, friendly even, to check in on Rowan and offer Edith any help that she might need in tending to an injured boy. After all, it was Edith who had suggested that they should be a little bit friendlier towards each other. On the other hand, he didn't want to suffocate her, either. Yesterday had been only the second time that he'd seen her since their failed wedding and he felt like showing up the very next day might be too much.

"Oh, just go, old man!" Anthony shouted as he flung himself out of the Land Rover. He straightened his scarf, smoothed his duffle coat down, and grabbed the little gift he had brought for Rowan before walking up to the gate. After unlatching it and following the cobblestone pathway, he was at Edith's front door, a place he didn't think he'd ever see since that day at the church.

With great trepidation, Anthony rang the doorbell and waited. There were muffled sounds behind the door, voices and the sound of things clattering and clinking around. Finally, after the longest moment Anthony had ever lived, a dishevelled Edith appeared in the doorway. As her gaze settled upon him and as her brain registered who was at the door, her eyes lit up.

"Anthony!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "What are you doing here?"

Wearing a crooked smile, Anthony was somewhat dumbstruck by Edith's sweaty, effortless beauty. She clearly wasn't expecting company, or she might have changed out of her raglan shirt and dark, paint-stained jeans rolled up at the ankle. But Anthony was as mesmerized by her in Saturday morning clothes as he was when he proposed to her, clothed in that delicious, peach Greco-style dress.

"Anthony?" she prompted again, with a confused, but friendly smile on her face.

"Oh, oh, sorry!" he blurted out as he came back to reality. "I-I just wanted to stop by and offer my best to your son and to see how you're faring."

Edith smiled at him, most genuinely. "Thank you. We're holding up fairly well so far. Last night was a bit rough for him. He had some trouble finding a good sleeping position that didn't agitate the wound. But after a big stack of chocolate-chip pancakes this morning at breakfast, he seems to be doing much better."

Anthony was relieved. "I'm so glad to hear that," he told her. "Oh, and I almost forgot! I brought these along for Rowan, sort of a get-well present."

He handed her a small, brown paper bag, and tried to ignore the flutters in his stomach as his fingers grazed hers. "Peppermint chocolates from Beryl's Sweet Shop," Anthony explained. "Sort of seasonal, I thought. I hope he likes chocolate."

"That is so sweet of you," Edith said brightly. "Chocolate seems to be the cure for most things, doesn't it?"

"Oh, most definitely."

"Would…would you like to come in, Anthony? Get out of the cold? Maybe have a cuppa?"

Almost on cue, the winter wind howled and whipped at Anthony's back. "I don't mean to impose."

"You wouldn't. Plus, you can give Rowan the treats yourself. I'm sure he'd like that."

And so, Edith led her former fiancé into her cottage and took his coat from him. It was a bit of a struggle with his arm in the sling, but she managed without causing the man too much embarrassment.

Pointing past the mudroom, she instructed, "Please, make yourself comfortable in the living room. I'll go get Rowan. He's playing with his trains in the sunroom."

Alone among Edith's things, Anthony slowly meandered around the living room and smiled at how it so fit its owner. Books were everywhere, crammed in already-stuffed bookshelves and in piles on the floor. Rowan's toys, too, were scattered about haphazardly, be it a stuffed bear or green army men. The room, itself, was so very warm with its dark wooden beams overhead, rickety staircase leading upstairs, a massive stone fireplace in the center, and mismatched furniture. It felt like a home.

He sat down on the nearest sofa, crossed his legs, and picked imaginary lint off of his dark jeans, a nervous tick he always seemed to have around Edith, even when they were engaged. Moments later, Rowan came sprinting into the room energetically as Edith trailed after him. One would never suspect that he had a dozen stitches in his head.

"An-tee?" he asked as he climbed onto the sofa and sat cross-legged.

The baronet smiled and nodded.

"My mummy says you saved me yesterday," the boy told him.

Anthony chuckled. "Oh, I don't know about that! I just helped out where I could."

Edith chimed in. "Rowan, do you remember what we say when people do nice things for us?"

Rowan nodded his head. "We say, 'thank you!'" he told his mother. Then, turning Anthony, he brightly chirped, "Thank you, An-tee!"

"It was my pleasure, little chap," Anthony replied warmly. "Oh, and I have something for you. I gave it to your mum, but I'm not sure where she put it."

"I'll be right back!" Edith cut in as she hopped up to head to the mudroom to fetch the chocolates. She returned shortly thereafter with the bag. "Anthony was sweet enough to bring this over for you, pickle, so that you'd feel better."

As his mother placed the bag of chocolates in front of him, Rowan's eyes widened. "Is this candy?" he whispered in amazement.

Catching each other's gaze, Edith and Anthony burst out in laughter. Rowan, though not sure what was so funny to these adults, giggled a fair amount, as well.

"Yes, Rowan, it's candy…peppermint chocolate to be precise. It's very tasty, but as you can see," he patted his somewhat chubby stomach, "too much can make you look like Father Christmas, himself!"

Rowan giggled and turned to his mother. "Mummy, can I have some now?"

"What do we say?" she asked with a motherly sternness.

"May I _please_ have some?"

"Very good. Yes, you may have some, but not too much. We're going to lunch in a bit."

Rowan took his new bag of sweets and plopped down onto the floor by the fireplace where many of his toys were left. He moved some of the trucks and crashed them into each other between bites of the delicious chocolate. It was heaven for the little boy.

Edith and Anthony remained opposite each other on the sofas and watched Rowan as he delighted in life's simple pleasures.

"You've done such a good job with him, Edith, if I may say. You _and_ your husband, that is," Anthony told her, however much it hurt to admit that she had found happiness with another man.

"Thank you for that, Anthony," she replied. "Rowan makes it easy to be a good mum; he's such a good son. But, I, um, I'm not married."

Anthony titled his head in confusion. "You're not? But…but…"

"But I'm just not. Never was. When I worked for the _Sketch_, I became involved with my editor and not long after, I became pregnant with Rowan. In the end, things didn't work out between us. Even still, I wouldn't do anything differently. Having Rowan was the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"Edith, I never-"

"Wanted me to be a single mother?" Edith prompted. Although it was a poignant consequence of the actions Anthony had taken when he left their wedding, there was no hint of malice in her voice. "It's quite all right, Anthony. I have a great job working from home, Rowan wants for nothing, and we're both happy here."

"I'm glad to hear that, truly," Anthony sighed. Still, he couldn't help but feel that his actions led to this, however indirectly. "Does Rowan's father live nearby?"

Edith turned her gaze towards her son, watching him play so innocently. "He lives in London with his wife. When Rowan was younger, Michael would stop by whenever he pleased, which was irregular at best. He'd bring toys and ask Rowan to call him 'Daddy,' but all it did was leave Rowan confused. After the visits, he would come into my room, bawling his eyes out, asking why his daddy didn't want to see him more often.

"The older he got, the harder it became for me to allow Michael to visit. All it did was feed Michael's ego, while hurting and confusing my son. I couldn't allow it any longer. Last year, I told Michael not to visit any longer and threatened a restraining order if he did. It's been almost a year and a half since we've heard from him."

Anthony felt like a ton of bricks had been dumped upon him. "Oh, Edith, I'm so sorry…for you and for Rowan."

"We're better off now, I think. It's better to have Michael out of lives completely than for him to be around once in a while, utterly disappointing both of us each time," she explained, fighting off the stinging in her eyes. "Anyway, enough of this sad talk! We're going to lunch in the village in a bit. Would you care to join us?"

Flashing his characteristic crooked grin, Anthony responded, "Absolutely! I'd love nothing more."

"Excellent. Well, let's all get our coats on. You too, Rowan."

Rowan looked up from his trucks, seemingly oblivious the dark chocolate all around his mouth. "Are we going to lunch _now_, mummy?" he groaned, not wanting to be dragged away from his toys.

Edith bent down, placed a knuckle under his chocolaty chin, and kissed his nose. "We sure are, but only after you get cleaned up, mister! Although, I don't know how on earth you'll have room for lunch after all those sweets!"


	6. Talks and Train Sets

A/N: Thank you all so much for the positive feedback for the last chapter! It warmed my little shipper heart to bits :) The first part of this chapter will feature an entirely headcanon flashback during Edith and Anthony's engagement and it will begin to reveal, at least in my own interpretation, one of the reasons that Anthony jilted Edith at the altar. It might seem fluffy, but there is an underlying sense of longing and angst because we all know what happened in S3E3.

Thank you for reading this story of mine and as always, I'd love to hear from you about it :)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Six Years Earlier_

It was late, far later than Edith had planned to stay out, but she didn't care one bit. No one would notice that she was missing from her bedroom at Downton and for the first time, she was glad of it. She snuggled further beneath the thick, patterned blanket and rested her head against Anthony's shoulder.

With only a few days before their wedding, the betrothed couple had slipped away from wedding panic and spent the day at Locksley Estate wandering the apple orchard and the old tenant cottages as they pleased before retiring to the library. Anthony managed to get a fire going in for the first time since his injury and was rewarded with dozens of kisses and whispered sweet-nothings of his skills from his fiancée.

Now, after a filling dinner and a lovely vintage from the wine cellar, the pair sat together, each thoroughly engulfed in a book. It all felt very domestic and offered a glimpse into what their future would hold in a matter of days.

Feeling Edith's head against his shoulder, Anthony smiled to himself and wiggled his arm from underneath her to wrap it around her. The two sighed together as they felt sleep call to them.

"Oh, my sweet," Anthony mumbled with his lips pressed against Edith's forehead. "Thank you for such a wonderful day. Very pleasant, if I may say."

With tenderness, Edith removed his reading glasses and pulled him down for a kiss, a more sensual return of the gratitude he just offered. "_I_ must thank _you_. You were the one to suggest a respite from the hell that Downton has become since my mother learned of our engagement. We've talked of nothing but china patterns and seating charts and hairstyles for weeks on end."

Anthony lightly chuckled. "Anything for milady."

"Honestly though, today has made me realize just how ready I am to be married to you, how much I far prefer the warmth of Locksley and the man who lives inside of it to Downton," Edith explained as she laced her fingers through Anthony's dead hand. Dreamily sighing, she added, "It won't be long now until this library and this house are full of the pitter-patter of little ones."

"Little ones?" Anthony asked enthusiastically with raised eyebrows.

If Anthony were showing how much the thought of children excited him, Edith didn't pick up on it. "Oh, I um, well, we haven't really talked about it, but…oh, just forget it," she stuttered.

"I don't want to forget about it. Do you…do you want children?"

Edith bit her lip bashfully and nodded. "Someday, yes. Do you?" she inquired.

Anthony wanted to tell her the truth then and there about his secrets. How could he be a father when he was haunted by so many demons? How could he bring a life into the world when he was so tethered to his addictions? On second thoughts, how could he do the same to Edith?

But the hopeful, wishful look in Edith's dark eyes moved him to say, "If we are blessed with them, then yes. I had resigned myself to remaining childless after Maud and little Thomas died, but I'd welcome a hundred little ones if we're so lucky."

"Do you mean it?" Edith asked for reassurance as she sat up, moving to be nearly on top of him as their books and blankets fell to the floor.

"I do. It will be harder, considering my age, but I know that you'd make a terrific mother and compensate for my lack of energy," he told her, almost as a grunt with Edith's body on top of his, her hands planted firmly on his chest.

"Oh, tosh! You're very energetic, Anthony Strallan. You need to be in order to keep up with me," she teased. "How many do you want?"

"Three, I think," Anthony said.

"I like that number. Two girls and a boy, all of them with blond hair and bright blue eyes like their father!"

Anthony abandoned his insecurities for the moment and allowed himself to be caught up in this moment with his fiancée. "I daresay, they had better look just like you instead of this old codger!"

Pressing little kisses along his jaw, Edith murmured, "What would like to name them, our two girls and boy?"

"Hmm, that is a tricky, but very important question," Anthony explained as he wrapped his arm more tightly around her back. "For the two girls, perhaps Edith II and Edith III?"

Edith ceased her work on his jaw and burst out laughing. "Edith II and Edith III? Are you mad?"

Joining in on the fun, Anthony chuckled, too. "Well, sweet one, it _is _my favorite name of all time…"

"Absolutely not!" Edith replied, playing along. "How about Charlotte or Elinor? Maybe Ada or Emma?"

"All of them! I like them all!"

"And for our boy?"

"Perhaps Philip for a boy? I wouldn't want a junior, but I would him to have at least one of my names."

"I like Philip," Edith told him with sincerity. "I like all of your names, in fact. And when our little boy grows up, I want him to be like you in every respect. Tall, bright, bookish, kind…all of it!"

Anthony felt his heart constrict. Edith was blind to everything he had kept hidden from her: the nightmares, the pills, the alcohol. He had had enough of lying to her.

"I, I don't think that that is such a-" he began, but trailed off. "Edie, there is something I need to tell you, something I've been putting off for months now."

Edith pushed her body slightly away from Anthony's chest to get a better look at him. "What is it?"

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Anthony opened his mouth to explain to her what sort of monster he had become, but before he could begin, Edith's mobile rang on the coffee table next to them.

"Sorry, just hold that thought!" she apologized with a finger to Anthony's lip as she hopped off his body and lunged for her phone. "Hello…No, I was not aware that it was 1:00 a.m.…I'm sorry, Papa, we just lost track of time…Yes, yes, I'll be home shortly."

"Lord Grantham is displeased, I take it?" Anthony observed, feeling very defeated and missing the warmth of her body on top of him.

"I'm sure he's under the impression that you've been having your wicked way with me all night and properly scandalizing me before our wedding!" Edith teased as she collected her shoes and cardigan long since discarded on the floor. "I cannot wait to get out of that blasted house once and for all!"

"Yes, well, not long now," he mumbled, swinging his legs over the couch.

Edith walked back to the couch, her belongings in a bundle in her arms, and placed a lingering kiss on his mouth. Pulling away, she whispered, "I want to continue this tomorrow. You'll have all day to tell me all your deep, dark secrets between my mother's wedding-related interruptions, that is."

He flashed her a small, lopsided smile. "I look forward to it, my sweet one."

After walking Edith to her car, they parted with a lingering hug, and Edith went on her way to face Lord Grantham's wrath. Meanwhile, Anthony moseyed upstairs to his bedroom and collapsed onto it with his clothes still on.

He felt almost sick by his conversation with Edith, not because he didn't want to have oodles of children with her or that he wasn't looking forward to marrying her more than anything. It was because he felt like he was trapping her, condemning her to a life filled with his hidden addiction, with his scars. The war had been brutal to him, and nearly every night gave him a reminder of that day, the day that destroyed his arm and almost his life. Perhaps the nightmares would wane with time, but his reliance on the pills seemed to dig its claws deeper into his flesh with each day.

If only he could be free of them…

Jolting up from his bed, Anthony rushed to the adjoining bathroom and threw the medicine cabinet open. In a rage, he grabbed all of the pill bottles and emptied their contents into the toilet. It felt like the chains of bondage were breaking, and it gave him a sense of satisfaction and liberation that he hadn't felt in years.

After the bathroom had been cleared, he ran around to all of his other hiding spots: inside hallowed-out books in the library, stuffed in the back of a desk drawer in his study, above the refrigerator in a fruit bowl. He wanted every trace of those wretched pills gone from his home. If he had to quit cold turkey, he would do it, for Edith's sake if not his own.

Returning to his bedroom, Anthony prepared himself for the night as per his usual routine. Climbing into bed and pulling the covers over himself, Anthony felt his legs quiver slightly as the early stages of withdrawal set in.

He was in for a long night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Today_

After a quick scrub for Rowan and a change of clothes for Edith, the unlikely trio found themselves in a crowded little bistro in the heart of Ripon. Crammed into a little, circular table in the back of the restaurant, Anthony couldn't help but feel a bit claustrophobic, given his lack of leg room.

But as Edith scooted her chair forward to make way for an elderly woman behind her, their knees grazed and all of a sudden, the lack of space in this establishment didn't seem so bad.

"This is a nice place," Anthony told Edith. "I don't think I've ever been here before."

"It's my favorite place ever!" Rowan exclaimed through a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. "It's much better than Mummy's food."

"Rowan!" she hissed, though trying to stifle a laugh; she really was the worst cook.

"I'm sorry, Mummy! I didn't mean it."

Edith patted his little leg. "It's all right, pickle. Mummy isn't really the best cook, is she?"

"I beg to differ," Anthony cut in. "You always made the tastiest desserts when we were…I mean, before."

"Desserts, yes, but _real_ food is trickier," Edith replied, her mind drifting to the times baking with Anthony his kitchen at Locksley during their courtships.

Anthony noticed Edith staring off in the distance wistfully and quickly changed the subject. "So, Rowan, your mum told me that you have a birthday coming up soon. Between Christmas and New Year's, is that right?"

Setting his spoon down on the table, Rowan nodded and proclaimed, "Mmmhmm! I'll be five and my mummy got me a red go-cart like George!"

"That's what you think, mister!" Edith countered teasingly.

"I know so!" the little boy told his mother.

"Do you? Well, you sure are a crafty pickle, aren't you?"

Rowan giggled, his laughter deepening as his mother shot an arm out and tickled his stomach. "No more pickle tickles, Mummy!" he laughed as he tried to push his mother's hand away.

Edith pulled away and caught Anthony's gaze. "Pickle tickles?" he inquired inquisitively.

"Our codename for tickle fights," she explained. "I call him 'Pickle' all the time, ever since he was born."

"You're a really great mum, Edie," he said as he lowered his voice. "Just like I always knew you would be."

Somewhat taken aback by his sudden, emotional tone, Edith felt her breath catch. "T-thank you," she replied softly.

"Mummy, can we go back home soon? I want more of the candy that An-tee brought me!"

"Don't you think you've had enough sugar for one day?" Edith asked her son as she smoothed his copper hair down.

"No," he stated matter-of-factly.

Anthony almost choked on the water he was drinking and Edith, too, bit her tongue. "Perhaps we could invite Anthony over and you could share the chocolates he gave you with all of us?"

Rowan pondered this for a moment, tapping his index finger on his cheek. "Okay! I can show An-tee my trains!"

"I would like that very much, Rowan," Anthony told the boy. "You know, I had a train set when I was a young boy, too."

"You did?" he asked in wonderment, as though he and Anthony shared something that no one else in the world did.

"Absolutely! It filled my entire bedroom, much to the dismay of my mother's maid."

"Whoa!"

"Well, shall we go inspect it, then?" Edith prompted.

"Yes!" Anthony and Rowan both said in unison.

After the drive back to Edith's cottage, during which Rowan could not stop asking question after question about Anthony's childhood train set, the trio arrived and within moments, Rowan had darted inside and up to his room without even stopping to take his coat off.

"An-tee, come on!" he called out excitedly from the top of the stairs.

Still in the mudroom peeling their coats off, Edith and Anthony exchanged shy smiles. "I hope I wasn't too forward by inviting you back. If you want to go, I can just tell Rowan that you were called away. I'm sure he'll understand."

"I'm glad you invited me back, Edie," he told her softly as he struggled to get his left arm out of the sleeve. "He's a first-rate little boy and it's nice to get to know him. And it's been nice catching up with you, too, after all this time."

Edith walked around him and pulled the coat off for him. "I-I had forgotten how easy you were to talk with.

I don't know if we're just avoiding what happened that day at the church or if we're both at a place where we've moved on from it, but I'm glad to be your friend either way. You were my best friend for years before that, Anthony, and I've missed you."

Bittersweet. It was all Anthony could think that her confession was. Edith wanted him back in her life, but merely as a friend and nothing more. Perhaps it was for the best that he didn't pursue her in any other way; perhaps some wounds just run too deeply. But even though she wanted him only as a friend, Anthony decided that any contact her was better than nothing.

"I've missed you, too, Edie. Really, I -"

"An-tee! Are you coming?" Rowan called out.

"It seems that you're rather in demand at the moment," Edith teased as she guided him towards the stairs. Sensing his nervousness, she added, "Don't worry, he likes you already!"

With a final nudge in Anthony's side, Edith made her way to the kitchen and started to arrange a tray of post-lunch snacks. She found the bag of chocolates that Anthony had brought over for Rowan and feigned a scoff as she saw that the bag was almost empty.

"How on earth did that boy manage to eat lunch on top of all of this?" she muttered to herself.

With only a handful of chocolates left, Edith opted for some tea and warm milk instead, and brewed a kettle. Once everything was loaded up on the tray, Edith dropped it off in the living room and took the warm milk up the rickety staircase for Rowan. When she arrived at his bedroom, the sight that greeted her was one that she never expected to see.

On the floor between his wrought-iron bed and his massive, antique toy chest were Rowan and Anthony, both sitting cross-legged and ramming their train cars into each other's. Rowan was all giggles and Anthony was all smiles as the two made explosive sounds with their mouths and exaggerated the impact of the train-against-train collisions.

Edith stood in the doorway staring at them, still holding the glass of warm milk, and hoped that she hadn't interrupted their playtime. It was one of the sweetest things she had ever seen. It was short-lived, though, as Anthony sensed her presence almost immediately and quickly turned to meet her eyes. He coughed, feeling somewhat embarrassed for acting so childish, and hastily stood up.

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"Don't apologize, Anthony. A little fun never hurt anyone," she countered warmly. "Anyway, I thought you might like some tea; it's downstairs in the living room."

"Oh, yes, that would be splendid," he mumbled.

"And this is for you, pickle. You know what time it is," Edith said as she turned towards her son and handed him the glass of warm milk.

"It's time for more trains!" he cheered, trying to distract his mother from the obvious.

"No, it's naptime and you're well overdue. Now, drink this, get in bed, and I find Finn for you."

Rowan complied without much of a fuss, downing the warm milk in moments, and hopped onto the bed. Once his mother pulled his baby blanket over him and handed him his beloved stuffed moose, Rowan nestled further against his pillow and closed his eyes.

"Sweet dreams, pickle," Edith cooed, pushing his strawberry blond hair back and kissing his forehead.

"Goodnight, mummy. Goodnight, An-tee," he mumbled languidly.

Somewhat caught off-guard at the chance to witness this intimate moment between mother and son, Anthony croaked, "Oh, um, goodnight, Rowan."

A sleepy grin appeared on the boy's face and Edith motioned for Anthony to follow her before shutting the lights off. Once they were out of earshot of the room, she told him, "He usually doesn't go down that easily and naptime is almost always a struggle. But anyway, thank you for humoring him like that, with the trains, I mean."

As they descended the stairs, Anthony humbly replied, "Oh, it was nothing, really. As inexperienced as I am with children, I actually enjoyed that. It brought me back to my childhood and on top of that, I must say that your son is quite kind, very curious, and very bright. He's wonderful, Edie."

Edith stopped before she reached the last step, turned around, and looked up at him. She was even shorter than she normally was around Anthony and she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes. "_You_ were wonderful today, Anthony," she told him earnestly. "It's days like today that I become convinced that you would have made an excellent father."

Then, as if she had just said the most casual thing in the world, she flitted down the remaining step and off towards the living room.

Anthony stood there for a moment, his thoughts dwelling on how much he would have liked to have been a father and how he robbed himself of that possibility. Life hadn't been kind to him in a lot of ways, but he had been the unkindest of them all on that fateful day.

"The tea is getting cold!" Edith called out in a friendly tone from the living room.

"Coming!" he replied, stepping down the last few stairs for tea with the only woman he would ever love.


	7. Acquaintance

A/N: Thank you so much for the fantastic comments for the last chapter…all of them were so very nice :) Unfortunately, this will be my last chapter before school resumes and my updates will become less frequent (though I hope to post a chapter of this story and either _Shipwrecked _or _Seeing Spots_ at least once a week if I can).

The next three chapters will highlight the three different courtships that our couple has had: before the war, after it, and this new, veiled, muddled one in present day. I had intended these three scenes to take up just one chapter, but I wanted to go in detail and alas, each time period will take up a whole chapter. I wanted to take a deeper look at their relationship when they become acquainted with each other for the first time, when they get reacquainted after Anthony's injury, and the third time in the present, at how different it is from the other two. It isn't effortless like the first, or scarred like the second, but it is not without its share of difficulties. By the end of the third chapter in this little run, I hope it will all come together!

I hope you enjoy this chapter! I'd love to hear from you about it :D

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_The First Time_

Edith gracelessly closed the door of her Oxford flat with her foot as she tried to balance a massive stack of books in one hand, and her keys and a cup of coffee in the other. It was an extraordinary feat, not one without significant strain and once her couch came into view, Edith threw her possessions, save the coffee cup, onto it.

Her muscles felt relieved almost instantaneously and she allowed herself to sigh dramatically. She had a few weeks left of her final term at Oxford and was surprised by how eagerly she yearned to be gone from this place. School had always been a godsend, a refuge from the indifference she felt at Downton, but now, it not only compounded her stress, but there was something else in Ripon that made her long for home, or rather, _someone_ else.

Ever since Anthony Strallan had dropped her off at Downton after their casual, friendly drive together, the mismatched pair had been exchanging emails with a religious fervor. Everyday, emails were read and replied by both parties at breakfast, dinner, and occasionally, even blushingly, at 2 a.m. Their emails encompassed a great variety of lengths and covered a great variety of topics, but one thing remained constant (and unmentioned) throughout: both Edith and Anthony were falling for each other.

It was as clear as the pixels on the computer screen. Two friends simply didn't write each other with such devotion, spilling such secrets, or offering such veiled flirtations.

But friends they remained, for Anthony was Edith's father's good friend and neighbor, not to mention a great deal older than the young, university student. He felt like a dirty, old man every time he typed his reply to Edith, but his heart countered that he had never connected with someone so magnetically before. Edith's words were funny, witty, bright, just as the woman herself was, and she spoke directly to his heart. It was undeniable.

Their correspondence began simply enough, asking each other about the goings-on in their lives, favorite foods, taste in music, and the like. But as the days grew into weeks and the number of emails multiplied, deeper feelings were revealed: troubled pasts, darkest fears, longing hopes and dreams. Despite the decades between them, Edith Crawley and Anthony Strallan were two kindred souls, each on a wavelength they had shared with no one else before.

Edith inhaled one more deep breath before crossing the small flat to her even smaller desk. In truth, it only felt small because it was so horrendously cluttered, with dozens of books, old coffee mugs, about a hundred pens, and an ancient computer on top of it.

With electricity buzzing in her fingertips as she logged in, Edith pulled up her inbox and felt her stomach tighten as she saw a new email from Anthony. Excitedly, she clicked on it and devoured its contents.

_Dearest Edith,_

_I certainly hope your faculty advisor listens to your sage words; your writings are spot on (although I may be a bit biased) and if they deduct points from you for speaking your mind, I would have half a mind to march right down to that blasted school and give them a piece of my own! Cambridge would never let this happen (although, again, I may be a little biased)!_

_On an altogether different note, I hope you don't mind, but I'm stopping by Oxford in a few days to visit an agricultural manufacturing plant just outside the city. We're thinking of acquiring it and adding it to the Strallan Industries umbrella, which is all terribly exciting, or on second thoughts, all terribly dull. Anyway, I thought that since I'm in town, we might meet up for dinner if you can spare the time away from your studies. An old friend (ancient, actually) of mine, Lady Jervas, has two extra tickets for a concert on the 23__rd__, which is the day I'll be in town. Nothing complicated, just Bellini, Puccini, Rossini; Hungry Hundreds, that sort of thing. I'd love if I could take you out as a sort of thanks for humoring this poor, old codger with your lovely emails. Dinner will follow at Lady Jervas's and she usually puts out a delectable spread._

_Anyway, I must dash. My solicitor just arrived at Locksley to go over the acquisition papers. What a lovely way to spend the afternoon!_

_Most Sincerely,_

_Anthony_

Biting her tongue and suppressing a girlish squeal, Edith quickly typed her acceptance. Now, all she had to do was wait. Three days didn't seem so far off.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

But three days turned out to be _very _far off.

The days passed so slowly and it only added to Edith's growing anticipation for the concert with Anthony. She called Sybil up, who also studying at Oxford as all the Crawleys did, and begged her to help her pick out an outfit the night before the big day. After three hours, two bottles of wine, and what seemed like hundreds of dress-and-shoe combinations, Edith had settled on a long, flowing, teal-sequined gown that skimmed the ground and exposed her shoulders; she had worn it to a 1920s costume party years ago and had practically forgotten about it. Edith felt abundantly attractive in it and silently prayed to whomever was listening that Anthony would concur.

Judging by the cheeky grin on his face when Edith opened her front door for him the following evening, Anthony did, indeed, find her irresistible.

"Y-you look…" he stammered. Despite his upbringing and even the dashing, white tie suit he wore, Anthony was at a loss for words in front of this woman and fumbled with even the most basic of sentences like a fool. "Stunning," he exhaled.

Edith turned a deep shade of red and nervously fiddled with the clutch that Sybil had lent her for the evening. "You look very handsome, yourself," she told him. "It's so nice to see you after all these weeks. Although, I feel like I see you every time I open one of your emails."

Still standing awkwardly in her doorway, Anthony replied, "I feel precisely the same way, Edith! Amazing, that email business, isn't it? Oh, and I almost forgot! I brought these for you."

Anthony handed her a beautiful bouquet of white carnations, lilies, gardenias, and hydrangeas. It smelled divine and Edith eagerly accepted them. "They're beautiful, Anthony! Please, come in while I find a vase."

Stepping inside Edith's flat was like stepping into a piece of her mind. There were books stacked in precariously balanced piles, sweaters thrown haphazardly over chairs and tables, and framed vintage travel and movie posters on every wall. There was a sense of chaos about the place, like there was with its occupant, but it was one that Anthony found to be incredibly endearing.

After some clanking in the kitchen, Edith emerged with a stout, glass vase. "Here! This will do, don't you think?"

"Perfectly, my dear," he said sweetly. After Edith had arranged the bouquet, he added, "Now, we had best get on our way if we're going to make it to the concert on time!"

A quick drive across Oxford brought them to the Sheldonian Theatre, a massive structure with warm wood adorning every surface and an ornate painting on the ceiling. Pushing through the crowd, Anthony led Edith to their seats, just behind the orchestra.

"Goodness, these are impressive seats!" Edith exclaimed above the chatter of the assembly.

"Yes, well, Lady Jervas is a tough, old broad who usually gets her way in most everything, but especially concert tickets."

As Edith sat down and smoothed her dress down, she asked, "And why isn't Lady Jervas here tonight? Especially since she so desired these seats?"

Anthony chuckled as he thought of the real reason: because he had begged and pleaded with the old woman for a chance to treat Edith to a very special night out. She had mentioned in her emails that she seldom got the chance to do things like this and he desperately wanted her to show her a more sophisticated night out; he felt that dinner and a movie just wouldn't cut it for someone like Edith. Thankfully, despite her toughness, Lady Jervas was a romantic at heart and gladly parted with her hard-earned tickets to give the dear baronet a chance at love.

"Ahh, she hates Puccini as it turns out," he fibbed. "Bloody hates him!"

Leaning in closer to him, Edith whispered, "Tell Lady Jervas that I'm _so_ glad that her taste in opera composers is sub-par."

Anthony was too intoxicated with the closeness of this young woman next to him and the delicious scent of her perfume coupled with lingering fragrance of the bouquet he had given her to reply. He simply chuckled and nodded his head, feeling utterly awkward.

Not long after, the concert began and Puccini's melodies filled the air. Anthony, despite his love of Italian opera, was distracted almost the entire time. This evening with Edith had only confirmed what had been pestering him ever since that drive through the Yorkshire countryside and each time he opened his emails: he was in love with Edith.

It had happened almost entirely by accident, for he wouldn't usually pursue the much younger daughter of a friend, but so it happened. Their drive had been friendly, their emails had been friendly, and despite his mantra of their status as friends, Anthony knew that they were _not_ friends. Something more had developed between them right under their very noses.

The female opera singer was nearing the climax of _O Mio Babbino Caro_, when Anthony noticed Edith draw in a sharp breath, magnifying the beauty of her neck, and dab at the small tears that formed in her eyes. Being the gentleman his mother and father raised him to be, Anthony pulled out a tissue from his breast pocket and discreetly offered it to her.

Looking down at the tissue in Anthony's hand, Edith smiled gratefully and chanced a glance up at him. He wore a shy smile, and heard her gasp quietly when his fingers lingered on hers as the exchange was made.

As quickly as it started, it ended, and Anthony went back to feigning attention to the opera. For the remainder of the concert, Anthony debated internally with himself as to whether he should be bold and reach for her hand or whether he should play it safe and refrain from being too forward. After all, he couldn't tell whether her hand, resting delicately on the armrest between them, was inviting him to take it or simply relaxed. A few times, he even flinched as he nearly reached for it, only to stop himself at the last moment.

Despite Anthony's debating and near-reaches, and the wish for more time to decide, the concert came to a close after a standing ovation and no less than two encores. Anthony ushered Edith back to his car, mindful not to step on her long gown, and opened the passenger door for her.

Edith already had one high-heeled foot inside the car, but suddenly, she removed it and turned to face Anthony.

"Thank you, Anthony, for one of the loveliest nights of my entire life," she told him sincerely. "Really, it was splendid. A far cry from my usual Friday night at home with take-away and an old movie!"

He blushed faintly and replied, "Oh, it was nothing, although I'm glad that you've enjoyed yourself."

"And thank you for being a fantastic pen pal, though neither of us uses pens. You've really helped me to get through this last term and I'm so glad to have had the opportunity to get to know you better."

Anthony chuckled at this. "You've _liked_ getting to know this old codger?" he teased. "You are a very charitable person, Edith!"

"Far from it!" Edith playfully scoffed. "Honestly, though, you're just wonderful, Anthony."

Looking down at her dark, brown eyes, Anthony felt a wave of boldness take hold of him that he had so longed for during the concert. In a choppy motion, he leaned down and hovered near Edith's cheek. When she didn't move, but instead, grabbed the lapels of his suit, Anthony pressed his lips against her soft skin, letting his mouth linger longer than he thought proper, given their very public location.

Finally, after a very long, delicious moment, Anthony pulled away only to see Edith looking flushed. "I-I'm so sorry," he muttered, feeling like a fool for preying on such a young woman. "I shouldn't have done that!"

"Don't be sorry," Edith told him, her voice raspy and low. Then, standing on her tiptoes, Edith reached up and pressed her lips faintly onto Anthony's. It wasn't a graceful kiss, nor was it one like those found in romance novels or on the silver screen, but it was honest and timid and shy, not unlike its participants.

But the moment Anthony's lips moved against Edith's, growing more possessive and forceful, the two shy, timid people dissolved, leaving their insecurities and uncertainties by the wayside. Fingers wove through blond and strawberry hair alike, hands wrapped around beaded waists and around starchy dress shirts, as lips melted together and hearts soared.

Anthony had Edith pinned against the side of his vintage Rolls Royce at this point, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. However, when an older gentleman cleared his throat from the nearby sidewalk, Anthony suddenly realized how very public his affection had become.

He pulled away gently and saw that Edith's eyes were still closed. "Edie?" he asked quietly.

"Yes?" she murmured dreamily, her eyes still closed.

"We should probably get in the car now, if that's all right."

Edith opened her eyes and was pleasantly greeted by the sight of Anthony standing in front of her, red-lipped and thoroughly disheveled. "Yes, I suppose you're right," she sighed as she reluctantly let go of him and slipped into the car.

Once Anthony got in and closed the door, he turned to her with an expression she had never seen before. Speaking barely above a whisper, Anthony admitted, "I have wanted to that for a very long time."

Edith's eyes glowed. "I-I have, too," she told him. "Ever since that night at dinner."

A grin spread across his face. "I don't want to be your friend any longer, Edie," he said.

"You don't?" she asked with confusion.

"No. I want to be more than that…if you'll let me," Anthony told her, his tone pleading.

She stared into his bright blue eyes and saw the sincerity and adoration there. She realized in that moment, that for the first time in her life, she was falling in love. She was falling in love with Anthony Strallan.

Edith answered his plea without words, using her lips in other ways. She leaned across the center console and claimed his mouth once more.

"Do you mean it?" Anthony asked, as though her lips had imparted her answer into his mind. Not breaking the contact, Edith nodded and smiled against his mouth, deepening the kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck and nearly jumped the console to be in his lap.

Edith and Anthony didn't know how long they had spent in that car, though a fair amount of condensation appeared on the windows, until Anthony received a nasty phone call from Lady Jervas about the importance of punctuality and keeping one's promises. Needless to say, their dinner was cancelled, leaving Edith and Anthony in search of sustenance.

They settled on a little pub across the street from Edith's flat, both of them feeling very much out of place in their opera attire. Munching on fish and chips, the newly christened couple shared a fair amount of giggles and stolen glances at the bar.

Edith snatched a fry from Anthony's bag and popped it into her mouth. "You know, Anthony, we really must thank Lady Jervas when we have the chance."

He, in turn, stole a fry of Edith's. "Whatever for?" Anthony asked as he dipped it in tartar sauce.

"For her sub-par taste in pre-dinner activities, of course!" Edith teased.

"Oh, snogging wasn't what she had in mind?" he quipped.

"Probably not. But she really must get out more…it's the perfect precursor for dinner," Edith told him with a gleam in her eye.

"Isn't that the truth!" Anthony agreed, deciding then and there that Lady Jervas deserved a special spot in Heaven for letting him have those tickets tonight.


	8. Reacquaintance

A/N: Thank you all so much for the great comments for the last chapter! On a different note, I'm a little bummed that my vacation is officially over, but my schedule is somewhat more open this semester and I should be able to crunch out some chapters every Friday or Saturday up until about April.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next installment of our couple's courtships. This chapter will show their reacquaintance after Anthony was injured in the war and as it was in the show, it will not be as easy as their first courtship was. There is some damage present on both sides and it will not be as simple as it was before. I hope that when these three chapters are done, there will be a stark contrast between the three and will really show how different each time is from the last, and most especially, how far these two will have come.

As always, I hope you enjoy this a lot! Thanks for reading :D

NJB

P.S. I've included some lines from the Downton Abeey script book that were not left in the show. See if you can spot them ;)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_The Second Time_

"Granny, I appreciate the offer for tea, but I really must get back to work. My boss expects my article by the end of the day and it's nowhere near ready," Edith groaned, checking her watch for the fifth time in a minute and fidgeting restlessly on her grandmother's settee.

Violet Crawley waived her hand at her granddaughter as if to brush her off. "Oh, Edith, I don't know why you insist on writing when there really is no need. Anyway, I've invited a guest here this afternoon and I'd like some company while I entertain him."

"I do wish you'd tell me who this mystery guest might be. I feel like I've been lured here under false pretenses!"

"And do you feel that tea with your aging grandmother adds such a strain on your life?" Violet asked pointedly. "I won't be here forever, you know."

Edith accepted defeat. She knew not to argue with her grandmother once her age was brought into the conversation, although at Violet Crawley's rate, she'd outlive her entire family.

Silence settled upon the drawing room of the Dower House and neither granddaughter nor grandmother made eye contact. After many long, drawn-out minutes, Edith heard a car pull up on the gravel pavement outside. She bolted up to catch a glimpse at the mystery guest and felt her stomach constrict when she saw that familiar Rolls Royce pulling up by the front entrance.

"It's Anthony Strallan!" she exclaimed with excitement. "You didn't tell me _he_ would be visiting!"

Violet seemed pleased with Edith's reaction. "Well, you were so disappointed that he wouldn't come shooting."

"Oh, Granny, why didn't you warn me? I'm in all the wrong clothes!" she muttered frantically, looking down to her dark jeans and riding boots. She barely wore a stitch of makeup and her copper curls were somewhat disheveled, certainly _not_ how she wanted to look to see this man again.

Walking briskly, Anthony Strallan appeared in the drawing room, dressed in his usual khaki pants and navy, elbow-patched sweater. He looked ghostly pale and so very thin and before their eyes met, Edith thought he seemed preoccupied by something.

"Good afternoon, Lady Grantham," Anthony greeted politely, standing awkwardly in the entrance, waiting to be offered a seat. Then, as his eyes scanned the room, he saw her and his face lit up. "Lady Edith! What a charming surprise."

With those few words spoken in so few sentences, Edith felt years of emotion rush back into her heart, flooding it with love. She hadn't seen Anthony in years, not since that garden party where everything had gone so terribly wrong. She and Anthony had been seeing each other secretly in Oxford for the remainder of her term and all throughout the summer, going on drives, sharing meals, reading, kissing: it was all so blissfully magnificent.

Fate, however, had different plans in store. There was the letter, and the garden party, and Mary getting even. There was Edith tailing after Anthony, noticing the bulge of the ring box in his jacket, calling his name, her confused shout fading to a despondent whisper.

It was the last Edith had seen of Anthony, but not the last she had heard. There were hushed rumors in the village and in certain circles about the baronet being asked to do some diplomatic work in Iraq for the war effort there, but no one knew the specifics, not really.

Now, here he stood in her grandmother's drawing room, all in one piece and healthy enough, though seemingly exhausted. Edith couldn't stop the way her heart fluttered at the sight of him, nor did she care to.

"I'm so glad to see you," she sighed happily as she held her hand out. "We had heard you were in Iraq and it's such a relief to see that you've made it through unscathed."

There was a look of a regret in his eyes, or so Edith noticed. Mildly, Anthony extended his left hand to grab Edith's. "I'm afraid I haven't quite," he told her sadly. "I took a bullet in the wrong place. It seems to have knocked out my right arm."

She felt her once fluttering heart shatter. "But not forever, surely?"

"Apparently."

Edith stared at him and felt an intense urge to pull him into her arms as she had done countless times in Oxford, but today, for altogether different reasons. The years that had separated this meeting from their brief romance melted away as she realized the full impact of his injury.

Soon, she found herself asking, "But how?"

"Edith!" Violet admonished. Edith and Anthony both glanced up from the intense gaze they shared with each other, as if realizing for the first time that someone else was present in the room.

"No, it's perfectly all right," Anthony told the dowager. He was always one to encourage Edith's innate curiosity, even about things others would consider faux-pas. "You won't have heard of it, but there's a spot behind the shoulder called the brachial plexus. The upshot I'm afraid is the wretched thing is now no use to man or beast."

Edith could barely believe the words coming out of his mouth. Nervously, she fumbled with something to say to him. "Well, now we know why you didn't want to come shooting."

Anthony chuckled despite the sad truth to Edith's words. "Indeed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Would you care for some tea?" Anthony asked as he ushered Edith into his library with a hand resting just above the small of her back. It had been almost a week since he had seen her at Lady Grantham's house and in that time, he had strongly desired to be closer to her in any way; a hand on the small of the back seemed innocent enough. "I can have Finley make us some if you'd like."

Edith felt her skin tingle at the contact. It had been too long since he had done that, years in fact. "Oh, that's not necessary. I think I'd just like to talk." She wanted to spend this time with Anthony without his old butler barging in every few minutes.

"I would, too. As a matter of fact, I'm glad to have you to myself for a moment…"

Progress, Edith thought as she sat across from him. "Oh?" she asked coyly.

"Yes, it gives me a chance to make some things clear. I'm afraid I wasn't that clear when we met at your grandmother's home and it's been worrying me."

"I don't understand."

Anthony shifted nervously in his chair. He didn't want to say what he was about to say. "I hope I didn't give the impression the other day that we…that you and I…might take up again."

Despite the sternness and finality in his voice, everything about what Anthony had said, even down to the way he said it, was a lie. He was so happy to see Edith at tea the other day, and by the time he left to return home, he had fallen in love with her all over again. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he had fallen _out _of love with her.

"Is this about what Mary said at the garden party? Because you know it's _not_ true. I never thought you boring or old or anything that she said."

"No, it's not that, although if you say it isn't true, then I'm sure it isn't. The fact of the matter is that I'm too old for you, Edith. And now…well, now…I'm a cripple!"

"You're not!" Edith countered. "You seem plenty active to me. And you're not too old for me either; you weren't before the war and you aren't now."

"Yes, well, I should have known better before. I'm twice your age, Edith; that can't look good to many people."

Annoyed, Edith stood up and began pacing in the library, flanked on every side by walls of books. "I don't care what it looks like to other people! And how dare you say that you should have known better! Should have known what? Known better than to be my first best friend and first love? Is that what you mean?" she implored, her voice rising to a dangerously high level.

Anthony remained seated, taking the verbal beating as though he deserved it. "That's not what I meant. I'm glad that you enjoyed my company when we were in Oxford, even here for that matter. But it was inappropriate, Edie. I was your father's good friend; I had no right to seduce his middle daughter twenty-some years my junior. And now, look at me! I need a nurse, not a girlfriend or a wife. I can't tie my shoes, write with a pen, drive most of my cars, and when my arm isn't in this damned sling, it hangs lifeless, flopping around beside me! I'm hopeless and you deserve far better than anything I could ever offer you now."

Edith hadn't prepared herself for a fight with him, but if she had to, she would. "You once offered me friendship, affection, and acceptance, as I'm sure you would now. Those are not small things, Anthony. I won't push you into something you don't want, but could we at least be friends? I don't think I could stand the thought of you living so close to me and not talking to you."

Feeling overwhelmed by this encounter, Anthony accidently let his defenses down. "Yes, yes, if that would make you happy," he relented.

A satisfied grin appeared on Edith's face. "Good," she nodded. "It would."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Everyday without fail, Edith drove the short distance between Downton and Locksley to spend the day with Anthony. Her excuses to her family varied, from a doctor's appointment to research for an article, but she didn't care whether they believed her or not. She was just glad to be free of that place and to spend her respite with Anthony.

They read together, played chess, walked around the property, or took drives around Ripon, but mostly they talked. At first, it was polite enough, but when Edith would press him and ask about his time in Iraq, Anthony tensed up and lashed out at her. His anger came from a haunted place, full of pain and torment, and he regretted the way he acted in those moments as soon as they passed.

Eventually, Edith learned not to press him on the matter and opted for other things to take his mind off whatever troubled him.

Today was no different. It was pouring outside, the sky dark and ominous, the rain pattering on the windowpanes of Locksley's library. Edith lay outstretched on the floor by the fireplace with a book in her hand, and every time she rolled over to adjust her position, she glanced up to look at Anthony, who was working diligently at his desk. Edith set her book aside and studied him for a moment, stealing the opportunity to do so without his knowledge. He looked so stern, as if concentrating on some papers for Strallan Industries caused him a great deal of pain.

She sat up and walked nearer to his desk. Leaning against a nearby sofa, she told him, "We need to do something other than rot around in this room. It's too dark and depressing."

Anthony pulled his reading glasses off and looked at her, reminding himself that he really ought not jump up and kiss her right then and there, despite how he longed for it. "Really? Care for a walk?"

Edith chuckled and motioned her head towards the window. "It's torrential out there, Anthony and I don't want to ruin these new shoes! Pick something else."

"Yes, well, footwear is very important to me," he teased. Biting the temple tip of his glasses, Anthony hummed and pondered. "Well, we could watch a movie. Or, judging by your very poorly hidden sense of displeasure at that suggestion, we could…read some more?"

Edith grinned despite her very obvious attempt to be annoyed with him. "How about we bake something tasty and eat all of it! Two dozen cookies and not one less!"

"What?" he asked as a little chuckle escaped him. "I-I don't bake. I can't! Not with _this!_" He gestured towards his useless arm.

"Fine, then you can be my sous chef," Edith told him matter-of-factly as she grabbed his good arm to pull him from the swivel chair and drag him to the kitchen.

The kitchen of Locksley rivaled that of Downton and many other larger estates in the region. Made for a time long since passed, it was massive, with white subway tiles and equally large appliances. Edith rushed in and fished around for some bowls and ingredients.

Resting on the side of the doorway, Anthony watched this young thing scurrying about his kitchen, mumbling things to herself and making a whole lot of noise as the dishes clanked loudly against each other. In this moment, the first since returning from war, Anthony felt content and he knew exactly why that was.

It was Edith. With her perpetually mismatched socks and that lone curl that always fell in front of her face to the way she always tried to make him laugh and truly looked beyond his useless arm: he was in love with her and he couldn't deny the extent of it any longer. Anthony loved having her around and when she left, he counted every moment until she returned. But, the ugly truth still remained: Anthony was an addict with many demons, with many memories of what he had seen in the Middle East that haunted him every night. It wasn't fair to drag someone so wonderful into the mess he called his life.

But as he moved over to assist and Edith placed her hand over his to steady it while they mixed the cookie ingredients together, Anthony argued with himself that his problems were not so bad. He could move beyond them. Time would help; Edith would, too. He had to put things into perspective: there were many other good men who suffered far worse than he did, and if they could recover, so could he.

"Very good," Edith murmured to her sous chef. She stood behind him as he worked the mixer, inspecting, but really, enjoying the chance to be so close to him, to brush up "accidentally" against his body with her own, and to inhale his soapy scent. "Just a little more stirring."

Anthony had blended all the components, leaving a massive bowl of cookie dough in front of him. "You know, when I was a boy, my sister and I would beg our cook to let us have some cookie dough. My mother always forbade it, but when she wasn't looking, the cook, Alice was her name, would scoop a spoonful for each of us and sneak it into our hands. It always tasted so much better than the actual cookies, probably because it was technically contraband."

Edith burst out laughing. "Contraband cookie dough? I've never heard _that _before!"

Blushing, Anthony returned her laughter. "Yes, well, I've been known to be daring on more than one occasion."

"Well, now knowing your penchant for cookie dough, would you care for some before we get it arranged on the tray?" Edith asked. When he smiled and nodded, Edith decided to be the daring one. She stuck a finger into the bowl and scooped up a dollop of the dough. "Here, try some and let me know what you think."

Anthony looked down at Edith's cookie dough-covered finger and felt his heart rate quicken. Did she really want him to…to lick it off? There wasn't a hint of seduction in her voice as she had said it so casually, but it was perhaps the most provocative thing Anthony ever remembered her doing. Feeling half out of his mind, he bent down and quickly licked the stuff off of Edith's finger, hoping not to embarrass himself in the process.

"Well?" Edith pressed excitedly.

"It was…it…" he trailed off. Before he could tell her his thoughts, Anthony bent down and caught Edith's mouth with his own. It was a hasty kiss, one lasting no more than a second, but it said so much despite its brevity.

After it ended and Anthony pulled away, the two stared at each other for a very long time. Blue met brown and silence fell upon them.

"You and I seem to have a very difficult time being friends, don't we?" Edith asked after awhile.

Anthony couldn't tell whether she was serious or teasing, as either would have been an appropriate response to such a foolish action. "I don't know," was all he managed to say.

She took a step closer to the space Anthony had just put between them. "Before we proceed, I need to know whether you intend for us to be friends and nothing more, or whether you want to take up again. I don't like middle grounds, Anthony, and I don't like not knowing," Edith explained with a softness in her voice that told Anthony that he was free to say whatever he felt.

"I-I," he stuttered. His mind screamed "friend," but his heart screamed "more." Anthony knew he should not, by any means, drag Edith into this, to subject her to his hidden demons. But as Edith's dark eyes looked into his lovingly, he knew that he could only give one answer "I want more…I want to take up again. That is, if you can forgive this old codger for how he ended things the last time."

"I can, but only if you promise to stop calling yourself a codger," Edith teased as she wrapped her arms around his back.

Chuckling, Anthony relented. "How about, 'this silly man?'"

"That's more like it," she replied, her coy smile giving him permission to kiss her once more.

And he did just that.


	9. Reacquaintance Pt II

A/N: Thank you for all of the lovely reviews for the last chapter! I won't spoil too much of this one upfront, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. This reacquaintance, which I see as their last attempt at one (because if this doesn't work, nothing will), will show that it's easier than the time after Anthony's injury, but not as effortless as their first with the concert. There is damage and pain between them, but enough time has separated them from it that perhaps healing is on the horizon for them both.

As always, thanks for reading and I'd love to hear from you about this chapter! Drop me a line :)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_The Last Time_

Anthony stepped into Edith's living room, feeling utterly enamored with the way she leaned over the coffee table and poured some tea into two cups. Taking a seat on the opposing sofa, Anthony tried to make himself comfortable despite the fluttering of his stomach and the inherent awkwardness of the situation that now faced him. After all, he hadn't spent any time alone with Edith in a very long time, emergency situations excluded.

She smiled warmly at him as she fixed his cup, peering up to steal a glance or two while she concentrated on the task at hand. Edith didn't need to be reminded how he took his tea: three sugar cubes and a heavy hand of milk. He had taken it like that for as long as she had known him and his constancy had proved to be something that she had once loved about him.

"I'm astonished that you remember how I take it!" Anthony exclaimed, taking a small sip and grinning at its perfection.

Edith blushed a little and replied, "I remember more things than you think, Anthony. Not all was forgotten in six years."

Anthony's smile fell almost instantly. "Yes, well, perhaps some things should," he mumbled, his thoughts drifting to that day at the church. The more he thought about Edith remembering such a little thing like how he took his tea, Anthony realized that he would prefer she didn't. He would prefer not to think about hurting someone who cared for him so much, who knew every little detail about his life, mundane and otherwise. It was easier to believe that he had left someone who cared very little for him; but after taking another sip of his sweet and milky tea, Anthony realized just little truth there was in that belief.

Edith, too, looked a little downtrodden at the mention of Anthony's mistakes. But, she would not let something like that ruin what was otherwise a very lovely day. Changing the subject, she asked, "So, I remember you mentioning that your estate needed some repairs. Is everything all right with it?"

Anthony was relieved that she had so mercifully saved him from his own self-pity. Quickly, he turned his thoughts to the new conversation between them. "Yes, yes, it's in terrible straits," he told her. "My manager had quite the sordid love affair, _in_ Locksley, I might add, and took off with her for Poland without giving notice. That was about two years ago and Locksley has been sitting vacant ever since. Estates like mine require regular upkeep and as you can imagine, without anyone looking after it, it fell into disrepair. Leaky pipes, water damage, cracked walls, the works. I've hired out a contractor and we're renovating it room by room. Obviously, with my arm, I mostly oversee the madness and write the occasional check."

Edith chuckled at his attempt at a joke, however feeble. "That's terrible! I mean, I'm glad you're fixing it now, but how awful to see your home in ruins."

It was Anthony's turn to chuckle. "Yes, that's quite right! Definitely not up to my usual standards."

"So, while you were away…that is, when Locksley was vacant, where did you go?" Edith inquired nervously. She knew precisely _why_ he left; it was common knowledge around the entirety of Yorkshire, but she never quite knew the details as to where he had gone; no one did. Even weeks and months after their failed wedding, Edith would find herself hoping that Anthony was all right, wherever he was, and that he was treating himself well.

The color from Anthony's face drained; he knew that a discussion of his whereabouts teetered very close to a discussion about their wedding and his jilting, both topics that he couldn't bear to discuss, especially with Edith.

"I-I…I went all over, really," he stammered, nervously picking imaginary lint from his sweater with his good hand.

"Yes, but where?" Edith pressed.

"Um, to the Continent, Asia, Africa, America…really, all over."

"Oh, you weren't kidding," Edith remarked numbly. "Well, what did you do?"

Anthony wasn't sure how to answer that without revealing too much; after all, this friendship…relationship…whatever it was, was very new and he didn't want to ruin it before it even got off the ground. He couldn't very well tell her about the pills or the dreams of her that he had every night in whatever musty old hotel room he happened to be staying in without telling her about every lie he had told or every truth he had omitted during their courtship. No, he would spare her from that…today, at least.

"I read mostly-"

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Edith interrupted, this time, her tone a little warmer.

He flashed her a watery smile and continued. "I also walked a lot, roamed around the cities and countries I visited. Traveling alone, it has its benefits and its…downsides. I never really grew accustomed to eating alone in public all that often, nor did I fancy being asked personal questions by well-meaning tourists. Still, it wasn't all bad and I probably would've stayed abroad if this whole mess hadn't happened with my manager."

That last line struck a nerve: _I probably would've stayed abroad…_"Was it because of me?" Edith asked bluntly.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, the sweet and milky tea long since abandoned.

"Was it because of me?" she repeated. "You…staying away?"

A heavy silence settled among the living room of Edith's cottage and words seemed to fail the baronet. Finally, he mustered some semblance of language and muttered, "Yes."

When Edith didn't say anything, he continued. "I didn't want to run into you and cause you more pain by doing so. I thought that if I left, if I got out of your way, that you could forget about me and move on with your life. And…and besides…" he trailed off, feeling like he was starting to reveal too much.

"Besides what?"

Anthony hadn't wanted to say this to her, to admit these things, but he owed her an explanation if nothing else. "Too much of England, of Yorkshire and everything in it…reminded me of you."

Edith sat deathly still as Anthony's words sunk in. Had he loved her all this time? Surely, given his actions, he couldn't…but something stirred in the young woman and she found herself not wanting to pay it any attention.

Standing up, almost as if ignoring the declaration that Anthony had just made, Edith grabbed the teapot and asked, "Would you care for some more tea?"

Startled by her apparent nonchalance, Anthony nodded dumbly and furrowed his brow in confusion the moment Edith left the room. When she returned a few minutes later with a freshly brewed pot, Anthony didn't have the nerve to ask why she seemed so unfazed by their conversation.

She sat down and poured him another cup, leaned back against the sofa and slowly sipped her own. "Drink it while it's hot," Edith instructed casually.

"I'm sorry, but are we not going to ta-"

"No," she interrupted yet again. "We're not going to talk about…_that_ any longer. Anthony, what happened between us happened six years ago. Six! And I don't want to spoil the present by drudging up the past. You and I are both very different people than we were six years ago…you're apparently a world traveler and I'm a mother. As it stands, I forbid any conversations of our engagement or wedding…I simply want to enjoy our new friendship and move forward. Can you agree to that?" 

It took a few moments for Anthony to realize what Edith had said. But when the meaning finally registered with his brain, he felt instant relief. "Yes!" he told her. "I, too, enjoy our new friendship…however odd it may seem: former fiancés becoming friends and all. But I do enjoy spending time with you, Edie. I always have. And now, well now, there's Rowan to add to the mix and I rather enjoy spending time with him, as well."

Edith seemed rather satisfied by his answer and flashed him a grateful smile. "Good. Now, drink that tea while it's hot before I do!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An hour later, Rowan shuffled downstairs after his nap, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, his copper hair smashed up on one side from the pillow. He walked up to his mother and climbed up onto her lap, oblivious to the conversation she was having with Anthony, and whispered something to her as their arms wrapped around each other.

"You had a dream about trains?" Edith asked with feigned surprise, her eyes catching Anthony's humorously. "Were you the conductor?" 

Rowan shook his head. "No, Mummy. An-tee was! He had a conductor's hat on and he let me wear it!"

"Dream Anthony sounds very nice, doesn't he?" Edith asked her son. Rowan agreed and trailed on about how he and Dream Anthony had chased away a gang of bandits who were trying to rob their train, and all the while, despite her questions about the dream and her encouragement of her son's imagination, Edith's gaze always found its way back to Anthony.

In the hour that had preceded Rowan's waking, Edith and Anthony had gotten along much better once they decided to put the past behind them. They were all giggles, just like they were in the summer after Edith graduated from Oxford, each of them sharing stories and filling in holes from the last six years. Anthony told her of some rather comical, but no less embarrassing antics of his times in various foreign countries, from his time in Texas where he got into an altercation with a heavily armed cowboy to the time in Italy where he was nearly assaulted by a lunatic on a Vespa. Edith, in turn, told him of her time learning to be a mother all on her own, from teaching Rowan to say his first word to the potty-training struggles.

Their shared, marred past lurked in the silences between stories; this was a new venture after all, but both Edith and Anthony were quick to fill it with another silly tale or a lighthearted observation. They were behaving like the friends they always had been and it turned out to be the most enjoyable afternoon in recent memory.

As the last bit of sleep faded, Rowan's energy picked up and Edith suggested a game of hide-and-seek, something that would wear him down a bit, but nothing too strenuous so as to harm his stitches. Rowan immediately agreed, glad to have someone new to play with besides his mother or his cousin, George. Anthony consented as well, although he felt a bit disadvantaged being 6'4" and unable to fit into small places.

"I'll find you first, Mummy and An-tee. Go hide!" Rowan told the adults as he burrowed his face into the sofa and counted out loud. Meanwhile, Edith and Anthony tiptoed out of the living room in search of a good hiding spot.

"Are there any rooms that are off-limits?" Anthony whispered once they were the staircase and out of Rowan's earshot.

Edith almost laughed at his sense of propriety, even during a child's game. "No!" she replied in a hushed tone. "If you can find a spot that will conceal your height, I'd say take it. There won't be many of those around here!"

Anthony grinned widely and took off up the stairs while Edith ventured into her study. He almost felt like an intruder as he wandered around Edith's home unaccompanied, though that feeling quickly vanished the moment he heard Rowan shout, "Ready or not, here I come!"

Hastily, he darted into the bathroom, climbed into the clawfoot tub, and pulled the shower curtain around. Then, he sat and waited.

A few moments passed without any noise coming from the rest of the house; Rowan and Edith must be very skilled at this, he thought. Then, as Anthony began inspecting Edith's shampoo bottle, the shower curtain was yanked away to reveal a giddy, bubbly Rowan.

"I found you, An-tee!" he cried out with excitement. "You're 'it' for the next round."

Anthony couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, jolly good. It's been so long since I've played this. Decades, in fact. Am I 'it' now or do we need to find your mum first?"

"Let's find Mummy and then you can be 'it,'" Rowan told Anthony as he reached up and grabbed the man's hand. "Mummy is really good at hide-and-seek, so we need to be extra quiet, An-tee."

Rowan led Anthony throughout the cottage, creeping down low in an attempt to be stealthy, and Anthony was glad to follow. He rather liked playing hide-and-seek like this as it was far better than whatever else he had had planned for the day. Besides, it was all too easy to pretend like this was some sort of fantasy of domestic bliss where he and Edith had built up this wonderful life together, filled with train sets, hide-and-seek, and a silly, bright, little red-headed boy.

The two males searched the house once over, but Edith was nowhere to be seen. She really _was_ good at this game. On their second sweep through the kitchen, Anthony heard something rustle in the pantry; Edith, no doubt.

"Hey, Rowan, how about we check over here?" Anthony prompted as he motioned to the pantry door.

Rowan's dark eyes widened and he dropped Anthony's hand to turn the doorknob. "Ah-ha!" he cheered as he pulled the door back to reveal his mother. "I found you, Mummy! I found her, An-tee!"

Anthony smiled at the two Crawleys as Rowan bounced up and down, bestowing hugs on the adults in the room. "Very good, little chap!"

"Mummy, An-tee is 'it' now so we have to go hide!"

"All right, Pickle, let's get to it," Edith said as she grabbed her son's hand. Then, with her free hand, she rubbed Anthony's arm and told him, "Hope you're having fun."

Anthony looked down at Edith's hand on his arm and felt his heart rate quicken. "Yes, yes, of course I am," he stuttered, fumbling with his words as flashed her a lopsided grin.

Edith and Rowan whispered strategy with each other and took off away from the kitchen as Anthony began the slow countdown from twenty. When he heard silence replace distant giggles and creaking wood floors, Anthony took off in search of the two Crawleys.

He started off in the living room, scanning the room, peaking under tables and sofas, but he found no one. He wandered to Edith's study, chalked full of books in the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and stacks of paper on her desk, and determined that neither Rowan nor Edith could hide in this little room conspicuously enough. Then, Anthony migrated up the staircase that creaked with every step, and turned to the first open door on his left.

Upon entering, Anthony noticed that it was Edith's, with its massive wrought iron bed in the middle and heavy wooden beams above. There were as many books here as there were in her study, with wooly blankets and dozens of framed photographs on the dressers and bedside tables.

Slowly, almost reverently, Anthony approached the side of her bed and picked up the photograph on her nightstand, one of Edith and Rowan, no more than two or three years old, going down a slide together. Smiling lightly, he grazed his thumb over the photo, committing the happy expression on their faces to his memory. Then, as Anthony attempted to set it down, he clumsily knocked it over and it fell to the floor.

"Damn!" he muttered as he picked it up. Thankfully, the glass was still intact, but he noticed that the back cover had come loose and the picture had popped out. With only one good hand to use, he set the contents of the picture on Edith's bed and tried to reassemble it.

But as he did, Anthony realized that there wasn't just one picture in the frame. He knew, then, that he was intruding far too much, but curiosity got the better of him. Anthony pulled the second picture away and felt his heart skip a beat as his eyes settled on it.

Staring back at him was a picture of himself.

It was taken during was one of those sunny, summer afternoons in Yorkshire during his first relationship with Edith, just after she graduated from Oxford. He was dressed in a navy suit, with the sun in his blond hair and a cheeky grin on his face. Anthony remembered how Edith had snuck her camera out to steal the shot and he laughed as she pulled it out.

He looked happy and content and completely in love.

Had this picture been here all this time, on the nightstand next to the place where Edith slept? Did she take it out from time to time to look at it? A thousand questions riddled off in his mind at once and suddenly it dawned on him. Perhaps Edith was still in love with him. Perhaps, even after all this time and everything he had done, there was still something there left to be salvaged. The thought astonished him.

Looking around the bedroom, Anthony realized that he had spent far too much time in here and hastily shoved the pictures back into the frame and set it on the nightstand. Then, he wiped the disbelieving tears that brimmed just on the edges of his blue eyes and walked out to continue playing hide-and-seek.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Anthony called out, his voice thankfully not betraying how his heart tugged at him and reminded him how hard he had fallen in love.


End file.
